


Lost & Found

by d_aia



Category: Black Panther (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/M, M/M, Not Black Panther (2018) Compliant, Not Natasha Friendly, Not Steve Friendly, POV T'Challa (Marvel), Post-Iron Man 3, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Wakanda, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: T'Challa saw the black motorcycle again. There was something about it that was so familiar, a niggling sensation that wouldn’t leave him, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It annoyed him. He had seen the bike two days ago, on the side of the road, but he was in a hurry then, and needed to get moving. Not this time.*In which T'Challa and Tony don't meet in the middle of a planet-wide conflict.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the movies or the comics (and characters, locations, personal histories etc as are shown in it).This is the work of fanfiction.
> 
> Warnings: Discussion of Non-Con; Discussion of Power Imbalance in Relationships. 
> 
> Thanks and acknowledgments: A big 'thank you' to Lex and arwenxs for their patience for my whining, and for their many encouragements! Thank you, guys!
> 
> Updates: Once, at the end of the work-week (Thu-Sat).
> 
> A/N: Firstly, the additional warnings in the Author's Notes aren't referring to the relationship T'Challa has with Tony. Secondly, Steve and Natasha don't come off too well. I'm sorry, they act as I imagine they'd behave. Thirdly, those of you who have read Debts would notice a change in Clint. That's because I imagine he's terribly frustrated in Civil War, which hasn't happened in this Universe. Fourthly, fans of Debts would notice some similarities between that Wakanda and this one, but I tried to make everything clear for those who haven't read it. As such, even if Wakanda is basically the same, this story is different and a stand-alone.

T'Challa saw the black motorcycle again. There was something about it that was so familiar, a niggling sensation that wouldn’t leave him, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It annoyed him. He had seen the bike two days ago, on the side of the road, but he was in a hurry then, and needed to get moving. Not this time.

The motorcycle was parked in front of the Eagle Palace Hotel, where T'Challa had just finished a meeting, so it must belong to a visitor. That made it all the more alarming that it should have been on the side of the road before because it was a wonderful machine. Sleek, not a line out of place, nor a single bolt, it was a little dusty—impossible to avoid in Nakuru—but beautiful nonetheless.

T'Challa got closer to it. Maybe if he studied it longer he would be able to name what he found so familiar. The motorcycle must've been expensive, that much was clear, but it had no brand name or symbol on it to help T'Challa in any way. It was uncommon, indeed, but it still didn't offer any solutions to his dilemma.

What was it about this motorcycle that teased at T'Challa memory?

Then it hit him as he was stoking the side of it. The design. It was similar to their skycycles. T'Challa was seeing the aerodynamic lines, the extra space for the propulsion mechanism, the slot for the wheels... How was it possible? T'Challa would have known if flying motorcycles had become the norm.

Someone was coming.

"At least you're gentle," a voice teased in English.

Teela, who had already turned to face the newcomer, blinked. Her reaction made T'Challa look in the man's direction, and immediately felt a swoop in his belly. The man was handsome.

Obviously to the white side of the spectrum, his skin had darkened considerably under the sun's harsh glare, though T'Challa didn't know if the sun could be blamed for the man's caramel-colored hair. It was close-cropped, a little grey peaking at the temples, though the man looked only a little older than T'Challa himself. Added to that was a full, short beard, trimmed and obviously well taken care of, and the most beautiful pair of amber eyes. 

T'Challa felt a shiver go down his spine.

"I always try to be," T'Challa replied. "Yours?"

The man's expression turned pleased, and he grinned. "Oh, good, you speak English. I thought I'd missed my dramatic entrance." He smirked briefly, and T'Challa had a feeling he knew him. Damn it, first the motorcycle, now its owner! "And yes, it's mine. You like her?"

"Yes, I do," T'Challa confirmed. "But it's curious." His attention was back on the motorcycle, to better ignore the temptation.

The man made a questioning sound in the back of his throat. "What's that, Gorgeous?"

T'Challa glanced at him. The man either didn't know where he was, or he didn't care. T'Challa was surprised to find the man grinning back unashamedly. Apparently, he did not see a reason to censor himself.

"I wasn't aware that flying vehicles such as this were the norm," T'Challa said, choosing to ignore second part of the question.

The man's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, but a smirk continued to play on his lips, and T'Challa had seen that smirk before!

Bringing a hand up to his chest dramatically, the man said mockingly, "You wound me."

"How so?"

"The norm?! I _never_ ," the man answered, laughter twinning through his tone. 

T'Challa felt himself smile briefly. "You built her yourself then?"

"I _maaaay_ have," the man said exaggeratedly. "But if I did is for me to know, and you to tell me why you assumed that it flew."

"I'm familiar with the design," T'Challa admitted. There were plenty of people that knew he was the Prince of Wakanda, there was no point in secrecy.

However, T'Challa was going to keep his name away from the stranger for as long as possible.

"See? I personally think that's much more interesting," the man volunteered. "And you're such a chill dude that you're going to tell me more, aren't you?"

Teela took a step forward, instantly gaining the man's attention.

"Woa, your sister just turned into G.I. Jane." The man lowered his voice in a whisper. "Something tells me it's the 'dude,' unless she gets weirdly possessive about your designs. Frankly, I'd understand that too. But. My money is on there being more than meets the eye where you're concerned."

Teela's eyelashes lowered in dismay, but she didn't take her eyes off the man, watching him more wearily.

"T'Challa." Smiling, T'Challa gestured to Teela, and said, "Teela."

"Eduardo," the man—Eduardo—offered. "Ah. It makes sense now. You're Wakandan."

"You're not Italian," T'Challa shot back.

Eduardo laughed. "I'm half. But I grew up in the States."

"Long way from home," T'Challa shot back. "Is there any reason why you crossed continents?"

Eduardo shrugged. "No."

T'Challa waited.

"I've run out of fucks to give," Eduardo added.  "How about you?"

"I'm here on business," T'Challa said, with a final pat on the bike.

"It's growing, I'm sure," Eduardo purred, making T'Challa blink, disoriented.

Eduardo was... bewitching. T'Challa realized that he was very subjective, but the way Eduardo walked, the way he talked, the way his fingers splayed on his chest... It was competent, mocking, handsome, confident, and sensual. T'Challa found himself definitely attracted to Eduardo. But...

"Remember where you are," T'Challa cautioned gently.

"I remember stuff," Eduardo said with a mischievous grin. "Like that look you gave me. I've felt less naked after people had outright asked me to strip."

T'Challa's eyes widened, and he hurriedly took a step back. "I apologize, I did not mean for you to—"

"Shhh," Eduardo interrupted T'Challa. "I want you too." He smiled, and gestured to... somewhere else, T'Challa was too concentrated on watching Eduardo's mouth form the words, and all the possibilities his voice invoked. "And there's the hotel. Where I have a room."

"Interesting," T'Challa said roughly.

The bright, amused smile on Eduardo face was breath-taking. "Isn't it? Your people can even search it beforehand."

T'Challa felt himself smiling back.

"Do you have to talk to your bodyguard?" Eduardo asked, nodding at Teela, and T'Challa made an effort to think clearly. "I'll wait in the lobby," Eduardo added, and left.

After T'Challa took care of the details with Teela, including having someone look at the motorcycle for time to time, he found Eduardo watching the newsstand, lost in thought. "Is anything wrong?"

Eduardo startled. He looked around, as if he wasn't sure where he was, and T'Challa frowned, worried. In a few moments, Eduardo seemed to reorient himself, since he smirked disarmingly, and asked, "All done?"

"All done," T'Challa said, all the while signalling Teela to buy out the stand. In all probability, this was a one-off, but he was curious, and he hadn't forgotten the motorcycle. This wasn't the usual mechanic on vacation.

T'Challa felt drawn in. He wanted to kiss Eduardo, to taste his skin, to search for the scent of his cologne over the column of his throat, to hear him moan. People were more than they seemed, and Eduardo already seemed to be a lot, but T'Challa was not interested in the questions Eduardo presented, not now. All of T'Challa's attention was taken up by the present.

When Eduardo walked backwards into the room, mischievous grin in place, and a hand extended, T'Challa voluntarily forgot about everything else. There would be time for that later. It was doubtful that Eduardo would even show up again. So T'Challa let himself be lost in kissing Eduardo. Slow, and not at all hurried, something about Eduardo's self-confidence, maybe his determination to enjoy himself, made everything relaxed.

There was no pressure whatsoever. This wasn't T'Challa's first time, but he wasn't all that experienced either. He had a couple of serious relationships, only one of any importance, and the number of one-nighters was less than twenty. He was a Prince, after all, and that presented ethical issues, not to mention bypassing the individuals who wanted something. While he was far from a virgin, he didn't have the sort of presence to calm down someone who was nervous. Fortunately, Eduardo wasn't the least bit hesitant or uncomfortable.

As such T'Challa took his time. He found out how Eduardo's lips tasted, his neck, his pectoral. Eduardo groaned when T'Challa bit his nipple, moaned when T'Challa nipped at his inner thigh, and out-right whined when T'Challa licked the side of his cock. It was easy, so damn easy for T'Challa to rock inside, watching those amber eyes close in pleasure, to catch a drop of sweat rolling down Eduardo's chest on his tongue, and to feel Eduardo's strong fingers moving over his shoulders in the most delicious ways.

T'Challa felt his orgasm coming. It was a sweet tension, a satisfying conclusion to a pleasurable experience. He felt it build, and he leaned in close.

"I'm close," T'Challa whispered.

Eduardo gave him a smile, and quipped back, "So am I, Gorgeous, for the last fifteen minutes." He bit his lower lip, but a moan still escaped. "I was here, bored, waiting for you."

T'Challa blinked, shocked, and then with a surprised laugh he came. It was exactly what he needed. He did remember Eduardo, when he chuckled and made him cut himself off with a groan when T'Challa jacked him off. Once, twice, and by the third time Eduardo was gone. Apparently, he hadn't been lying.

With a groan of his own, T'Challa pecked Eduardo on the lips. At Eduardo's insistence, T'Challa kissed him more deeply, before he rolled off. Getting rid of the condom, T'Challa laid down next to Eduardo.

They both recovered their breaths in companionable silence.

"That was awesome," Eduardo said with fond praise in his voice. Then his tone got wry, as he said, "You're a prince."

"It was, I am, and I don't think that's a requirement," T'Challa replied jokingly.

Eduardo made an incredulous noise. "It should be." And, with a kiss pressed into T'Challa's shoulder, Eduardo was up and heading to the bathroom.

T'Challa heard the shower start, smiling, and willing himself not to think. Which was, of course, when he remembered that he wanted to inquire about an old text for Shuri. He sat up suddenly, searched for his pants, and the phone in them to find out the time. Five thirty. He was cutting it close.

Luckily, Eduardo just exited the bathroom. He frowned, seeing T'Challa clutching his pants. "Something wrong?"

"I have another meeting I forgot about," T'Challa said apologetically. "Can I use your shower?"

"Yeah, sure." Eduardo stepped back. "There are towels in the cupboard."

"Thank you!"

T'Challa closed the door behind him. Five minutes later, he opened it again, done with his shower, to find all his clothes on the bed, and Eduardo watching him with a grin. T'Challa sent him a look that T’Challa hoped conveyed his gratitude, hurried to get dressed, and almost left without even a goodbye. He remembered in time though, and he faced a silently laughing Eduardo. T'Challa smiled sheepishly, making Eduardo's eyebrows lift. He smirked, and waited.

T'Challa felt a rush of fondness for Eduardo, and his everything.

"Goodbye," T'Challa said, and gave Eduardo a lingering kiss.

"Mmm. A very good bye," Eduardo said slyly.

T'Challa snorted, and, with one last glance, was out the door.

*

In the hallway, Teela was seated unobtrusively, on a nearby couch. To be honest, T'Challa was almost expecting her, so he wasn't all that surprised. He nodded to her, and they headed towards the car.

"The newspapers are in the car," Teela reported.

"Thank you," T'Challa responded. "We're going to that small Auction House. The one with all the books?"

"Nakuru's Books?" Teela snorted. "Original."

T'Challa shrugged. "It makes it easier to remember."

Teela huffed, and got in the car.

"Did anything about the papers draw your attention?" T'Challa asked, changing the subject.

"A possible identity."

When T'Challa looked at her questioningly, Teela held up three papers, each blaring a variation of the same heading: 'Previously believed dead, Stark is alive, but missing for six months.'

T'Challa's eyebrows tried valiantly to fly off his face.

"At least I know he was good," Teela said quietly. And just as T'Challa was giving her an accusing look, she added, "You should change your shirt, sir." She handed him a new one, all the while smiling wryly.

T'Challa looked down, saw the one he was wearing had a very obvious hole, and grabbed the new one. It must've happened when he was getting it out of his pants. Perhaps he was a bit forceful in his enthusiasm. Wait, didn't Eduardo do that? T'Challa couldn't remember.

"It's speculation," T'Challa pointed out.

"So it wasn't good?"

T'Challa huffed, swallowing a smile. "It was."

 


	2. Chapter 2

T'Challa spent some time in Nairobi, and then he was back in Nakuru a week and a half later, to buy Shuri her 'Treatise on African Queens.' It was the perfect engagement present, and T'Challa had decided he had to have it. Only once he did, it, of course, proved almost impossible to get.

Almost.

"So..." Eduardo trailed off, smirking, the book in his right hand. He had bought it a week before. "Here you are again."

The Auction House was quick to tell him that they have the buyer's contact information, that the buyer would surely want to sell the Treatise, and to not be upset with them, please.

Now, T'Challa had Eduardo's phone number, but not the book.

"I see now that I'd have gotten the book faster by staying in your bed," T'Challa commented wryly.

Eduardo shrugged. "You can always convince me to give it up." T'Challa took a step forward automatically, but Eduardo lifted a hand, and said, "I meant you can ask me nicely." He put his hand down lazily. "I'm not in business of blackmailing anyone into sex."

T'Challa smiled. "I'd really like the Treatise." Then he smirked, "And I'd like sex too."

"Who am I to say no?" Eduardo asked rhetorically, chuckling.

They came together, the book almost slipped from Eduardo's inert fingers, but he caught it at the last moment.

"Bed," Eduardo requested. He put the put book down on the side table. "That's yours."

"Thank you," T'Challa quipped. "Now come on."

Eduardo laughed. "You're a marvel, Gorgeous."

T'Challa chuckled breathlessly, feeling once again drawn in, and almost giddy with it. He reached for Eduardo, kissed him deeply, caressing a hand down his back, and, just like that, T'Challa was on fire again, groaning his pleasure. Eduardo's responses were more familiar this time around. He must've learned fast, because each noise was likely chosen to encourage T'Challa, and each touch was probably solidifying the places to drive him mad.

"How are you so hot?" Eduardo whined quietly.

T'Challa burst into laughter. "Me?!" His voice threatened to give up.

"I can understand—" Eduardo moaned. "I can understand why you'd think that." He rolled them over.  "You don't see yourself."

T'Challa reached, and hiked up Eduardo's thighs. "Why don't you do something about it?" T'Challa asked, probably nonsensically, but who cared at this point?

Eduardo rolled his hips. "I'm trying."

"Try harder," T'Challa moaned.

"You said it," Eduardo warned, and grabbed both their cocks in a warm grip. "How's that?" he slurred.

T'Challa smirked for one breathless second. "Better," he answered unsteadily.

"You..."

The rest was lost in whines, half-bitten cries, and mind-melting pleasure. As far as crescendos went, this was a pretty brusque one, almost managing to take T'Challa by surprise. He gritted out a warning to Eduardo, and was relieved to receive a wink and a surprised grin.

They rocked against each other, keeping eye contact, until T'Challa couldn't take it anymore and he put his head on Eduardo's shoulder. The gesture, or T'Challa surrender to the mind-numbing fever that seemed all-encompassing, managed to push Eduardo to completion. T'Challa was not far behind, his teeth buried in Eduardo's neck.

Afterwards, they lay down, shoulder to shoulder, watching an off-white ceiling, T'Challa's brain filled with white-noise.

T'Challa observed, "That was..."

"Yeah," Eduardo said, chuckling softly, and lifting himself on an elbow to nuzzle at T'Challa's neck.

"We agree then," T'Challa confirmed, bringing an arm around Eduardo to keep him in place.

Eduardo chuckled, and T'Challa felt him opening his mouth to say something, when they were interrupted.

"Mr. Feeeerro, I'm being stoleeeen!" a nasal, high-pitched female voice shouted from Eduardo's pants. From his phone. Presumably.

Eduardo immediately jumped into motion, while T'Challa observed bemusedly, "That is one unique voice."

Getting his shirt on, Eduardo chuckled. "Yeah, that's kinda the point." He bent over T'Challa and pecked him on the lips. "That's Fran, my motorcycle. I've got to go. Bye, Gorgeous."

"We haven't talked about the payment."

Eduardo was confused for a moment on his way towards the door, before he understood. "The book is yours, I told you already."

"Thank you," T'Challa said again.

Eduardo nodded, and was gone.

And T'Challa thought: maybe. Maybe he could to find someone like Eduardo. Maybe he's the type T'Challa had been looking for and could never quite articulate. Somebody with whom he could have an equal relationship.

T'Challa didn't know when it started. It is possible it had happened gradually when he understood how complicated having a relationship in-country would be. He could, in theory, be with anybody, but, in practice, it was a politics game. He hated politics. Some people were looking to embarrass his father, some wanted to get close to T'Chaka, some saw T'Challa as a good warrior and as such a candidate for a Black Panther. In some cases it was was them who made the decision, while for others their parents or relatives were the ones with goals that a relationship with T'Challa could help.

But it obviously affected their behaviour: either exceedingly manipulative or too permissive. Even with people that seemed removed from the whole thing, or from another country, he had found himself facing the exact behaviours, though at a smaller scale. He slowly became tired of it all. Perhaps even a tad paranoid.

Or perhaps it had started when he had realized the very real inequality between his father and his mother. Ramonda, his second mother and the one that raised him, hadn't seemed inconvenienced by it, so T'Challa hadn't seen it as a problem most of his childhood, until he went to Oxford. There, without the culture of his country, without its' norms and taboos, T'Challa has seen the horrors of power difference in a relationship. He had understood, then, that just because it never happened in his parents' marriage, didn't make their relationship balanced. And T'Challa didn't want that for himself.

Of course, later it seemed that his mother didn't want that either, and had to go into hiding for fear of his father. 

In the meantime, T'Challa had met Ororo. And he had reached the conclusion that he didn't want a relationship in which he made all the sacrifices either. There needed to be equality. Ororo was someone who was strong in their own right, but had the same deep roots as him, and their relationship only led to heartbreak. She never offered—and he would never have expected—to give up so much of herself to be with him. And the same was true the other way around.

So, T'Challa started to believe them when everyone told him that his standards were too high, that they were impossible to reach. But he didn't believe them when they said he should learn to compromise. The issue was too important for T'Challa.

When his sister had announced that she wouldn't be beholden to the same ideals, he had said there was no reason for her to have the same opinion as him, just as there wasn't any for him to make the same choices as her. Moreover, the times they generally agreed on how they ran their own lives were few, and far between. That was why when she had announced her engagement, a match with the future Elephant Tribe Chief, one that was filled with as much affection as consideration to politics, T'Challa was happy for her.

They were partners. Zakisi could keep up with her. They weren't a prefect pair, but they were as perfect as it got considering the circumstances. T'Challa was able to see that it wasn't their parents' marriage: he had more a lot more power than his mother, and she had less than their father. But to T'Challa it wasn't enough. The fact that he was Black Panther didn't help the situation.

But now, T'Challa thought he had found someone who could easily reach his supposed high standards. Independent, unattached, and powerful in his own right: able to build high-tech vehicles, have the self-assurance to call T'Challa on his behavior _after_ finding out who he was, searching for something in Africa by himself, and buying a rare, expensive book, one that T'Challa was sure cost Eduardo more than it would've cost T'Challa. If Eduardo existed, that meant that there were more people like him out there.

T'Challa smiled.

He hefted himself off the bed, and prepared to make use of the shower. As he was going in, there was a knock on the door, and his Stark Phone chimed to let him know he had received a message. He grabbed it, and went to open the door to Teela.

T'Challa directed a questioning look at Teela.

"We didn't interfere. It wasn't necessary. Ferro was on his motorcycle, and gone before it got to be an issue," Teela reported with a shrug.

Only then T'Challa checked his phone, and was surprised to find a message from Eduardo.

**Eduardo Ferro: Check me out, please? Pswd Nakuru5.**

T'Challa typed a quick response.

**_Me: Yes, of course._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: Thanks, Gorgeous.**

"He's not coming back," T'Challa announced off-handedly. "I'm taking a shower."

Teela nodded. "Where's the Treatise?"

"Oh the side table," T'Challa answered over his shoulder, and enjoyed Teela's startled expression.

*

"Mr. Eduardo Ferro would not be returning," T'Challa said pleasantly in Swahili at the reception desk.

The concierge looked a bit confused, but said, "Of course, sir. Password?"

"Nakuru5."

"Mr. Eduardo Ferro is now checked out," the man said with a smile. "Anything else, sir?"

"Does he have any unpaid charges?"

"He provided us with an account, sir," the concierge assured. "It's all taken care of."

T'Challa was surprised, but didn't let it be seen. "Thank you. Good night."

"Good night, sir," the man promptly replied.

"Well, well," Teela said as soon as they were out of earshot. "He doesn't need to be taken care of." 

"I noticed," T'Challa observed, amused, while he got out his phone.

**_Me: You have been checked out._ **

His phone chimed almost immediately.

**Eduardo Ferro: Thank you, Gorgeous.**


	3. Chapter 3

It was two days later that something occurred to T'Challa.

**_Me: I was wondering why you bought the Treatise in the first place. My hope is that I didn't inconvenience you in any way._ **

Some twenty minutes later, the phone chimed.

**Eduardo Ferro: I had to have it. It reminded me of somebody.**

T'Challa smiled. It was his opinion that Eduardo was lucky to have someone that came to mind when he saw a book on African Queens. T'Challa was prepared to write Eduardo a text to congratulate him, and to offer T'Challa's apologies once again, when he received a new message.

**Eduardo Ferro: If you want to make it up to me check out Anton Pretorius. It's not my business, but he seemed oily.**

T'Challa frowned.

**Eduardo Ferro: Might be nothing. But he seemed off.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Reminded me of somebody.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Somebody else, not the first somebody.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Anyway, considering it's your continent and you do some great work here, maybe you should know.**

**Eduardo Ferro: If you need to find him, he was at the Auction House at the same time as me.**

“What do you make of this?” T'Challa asked Teela, showing her the messages.

Teela's eyebrows raised as she read. “Too many things. Most of them good. He was a good enough man not to let an important piece of our history in the hands of someone he found suspicious. And then again, when he gifted it to you. Now, he lets you know.” She seemed pleasantly surprised, but her face darkened as she continued, “It's also significant that he had... suspicious people in his life. I believe it had to be a person he knew well for him to be able to recognise the characteristics.”

Retaking the phone, T'Challa nodded. “We are going to find out what we can about Pretorius.”

“Of course.”

**_Me: I'll look into it. Thank you again for the Treatise._ **

After a cursory search, T’Challa learned that Anton Pretorius was a part of the South African Government. By all accounts he shouldn't have been in Kenya, and the reason he was buying that particular book was still to be determined. What was more concerning, and what probably brought him to Eduardo's attention, was that Pretorius seemed to be a racist.

But was that enough for Eduardo to call Pretorius 'oily?'

Eduardo seemed to consider money tools that made it possible for him to have some of the things he wanted, how he wanted them. Somewhat different than how most people usually thought of financial resources, which could be summarized in one word: necessary. It spoke of a man who had a great deal of money, who was used to having it, and who was feeling confident he could make more. T'Challa could easily see Eduardo buying the book out of spite. However, if it was because the man seemed racist, he should've just said so.

What the hell did 'oily' mean?

“I need more,” T'Challa said.

Teela nodded. “I thought so. We will sift through all the public data, then, if necessary, we'll get to the private information, plant microphones, and... if it gets to that, direct surveillance.”

“Keep me posted,” T'Challa requested. “I also want you to see him.” His phone chimed.

Teela inclined her head. “I can probably get some footage of him both of him holding speeches or talking to the press, and of him being caught on camera unaware.”

“Thank you, Teela,” T'Challa said, and looked at his phone.

**Eduardo Ferro: No problem. Why did you want it?**

**_Me: An engagement present for my sister. It was as you said_ ** **_—the subject matter reminded me of her._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: Congrats! She must really be something.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Wait. Is she a...**

**Eduardo Ferro: What are you anyway?**

**Eduardo Ferro: Because I don't think you're a Duke.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Or a Baron.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Although both of them sound awesome.**

T'Challa smiled as he typed the answer.

**_Me: Officially, I'm a Prince. And my sister is a Princess._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: Woah.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Really?**

**Eduardo Ferro: Because I was talking about the quality. And not the reality.**

**Eduardo Ferro: When I said you were a Prince.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Wait.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Officially.**

**Eduardo Ferro: And unofficially?**

**Eduardo Ferro: Your Highness?**

T'Challa wanted to shake his head.

**_Me: Unofficially, we don't care that much about Kings and Princes in Wakanda. We have a different command structure, but these words make it easier to understand for strangers, and, since most strangers would never end up in Wakanda, we use them to clarify our hierarchy. As for the title, I'd be more comfortable if you referred to me as you did before._ **

**_Me: Would you prefer me to call you Doctor?_ **

**Eduardo Ferro: No. Got it. 'Gorgeous' all the way. And you are.**

**Eduardo Ferro: How did you know about me?**

**Eduardo Ferro: You realize that you succeeded in making me curious. Are you allowed to tell me about Wakandan hierarchy?**

**_Me: I am. We still have leaders, but they don't have the usual titles. And that you have your PhD was a guess, but one that was based on your accomplishments in the field of engineering. The only real doubt was if you took the trouble to get your knowledge, and talent, recognized._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: Different culture, different names, but also different customs.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Did you choose to have your talents, of which there are many, and your knowledge recognized?**

**_Me: I did. My focus was Physics. I went to Oxford._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: So you've been out of your country for years. That doesn't fit with it being isolationist.**

**_Me: Our country has taken steps to let go of our isolationism. And one of those steps is my studying abroad._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: Because you were supposed to be the Prince who handled Foreign Affairs?**

**_Me: No. I have too little patience for any kind of diplomacy. That's my sister's field. But yes, it was because I was my father's son, and I wanted to travel._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: You look like you are a patient person.**

**Eduardo Ferro: But you are a firecracker, aren't you?**

**Eduardo Ferro: Risk of exploding in people's faces included.**

**_Me: Yes. Yes, I am._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: It's like I now hold the secret that the dragon doesn't want eat anybody.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Only the other way around.**

**Eduardo Ferro: So I'm not going to tell anyone.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Because why warn them?**

**_Me: Somehow, I'm not surprised._ **

**Eduardo Ferro: Thanks.**

T'Challa chuckled.

*

T'Challa leaned back, in a move deliberately slow. He didn't clench his hand, and he carefully arranged his jacket. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his forehead.

“Why didn't we know this?” T'Challa asked quietly.

Teela opened her mouth to answer, blinked, hesitated, swallowed, and said, “It won't happen again.”

About a month ago they had begun researching Anton Pretorius because Eduardo had mentioned he was oily. They had immediately found out that he was racist, but T'Challa had decided that wasn't enough for Eduardo to make such an unfavorable evaluation, and so T'Challa insisted on going further. When they found Pretorius' speeches, Teela was not convinced: while Pretorius seemed biased against black people, he seemed to fight against himself in the measures he brought forth while in the South African Government. T'Challa persevered, and asked his people to look deeper. Teela supported him.

Which brought them here.

Apparently, Pretorius wasn't just against black people, but, against Wakanda in particular. He had a lot of financial resources—the source of which wasn't clear, but the world didn't lack racists—and he used them, along with his connections, to make others do his dirty work for him. More to the point, Pretorius wanted to infringe on the rights of the black people, to that purpose he arranged the bringing about of all sorts of conditions, and controls. At the same time, for whatever reason, he was going to launch a campaign against Wakanda, painting it as the saviour who didn't actually care about the wishes of the people she saved. 

They had links of what looked to be an intricate plan. That may be because they weren't seeing it in the entirety, but from what they could tell the plan would work because it fit so well in the current political climate. It also seemed tiered; it looked like it allowed for contingencies and landslides, and it was definitely long-term. If they had found this out two months earlier, they would have been able to deal with this by simply addressing the South African Government, but if they had found it two months later, they would be in caught in Pretorius' net and the relationship with South Africa would be sent back years, maybe even decades. As it was, they needed to be fast, stealthy, and lucky.

“Oily,” Teela whispered, and shook her head.

T'Challa snorted. “Perhaps Eduardo has an eye for the villainous sort.”

Eduardo was smart, very smart, and easy to talk to. He was easy to have sex with. Easy to be affectionate towards. They had met three more times, and spoke in bursts through messages and on the phone. And if it wasn't worrying—because if T'Challa thought about it, Eduardo inadvertently saved their asses and it was something they should either be suspicious about, or thankful for—then it was worth thinking about.

Why would T'Challa look for somebody else when he felt so at ease with Eduardo?

However, T'Challa needed to make sure that Eduardo didn't pose a danger to T'Challa's country, and that Eduardo was onboard with the idea.  At the same time, T'Challa was trying not to be that guy that stalked someone after they helped him. It was a delicate balance to be struck. 

“You think he's Stark,” Teela said. “I agree.”

T'Challa leaned back and thought about what he was wanted to say. “I don't know Tony Stark, so it's all the same to me if his name is Tony or Eduardo. But, if we do know his name is Tony Stark then we'd be more aware about how trustworthy he is on this issue.”

“I doubt that the South African Government managed to convince Stark to plant doubt,” Teela allowed.

“However, it doesn't absolutely absolve him.” T'Challa gave a half smile. “People could have many, possibly dubious reasons for what they do, so, in the end, his name is... irrelevant.”

Teela hesitated, and then nodded. “What do you want to do?”

“Give Eduardo the benefit of a doubt, but keep verifying his claims.”

“I doubt that he's going to take that personally,” Teela offered.

T'Challa raised his eyebrows.

“It is personal,” Teela conceded. “We're not very welcoming, but hopefully it's understandable. You don't know each other that well.”

Feeling that Teela had said it all, T'Challa changed the subject. “We're fine on all our other projects?”

“We're working on turning the grunts,” Teela said. “We're aiming them towards separate interests.”

“Without casualities.”

“That's the difficulty.” Teela looked pensively at her tea. “We're trying to limit the amount of money we're giving them, as you suggested, as well as mudding the waters so much to make further planning all but impossible and it seems to work so far...”

T'Challa leaned back. “But it's slow going.”

“Our people might be in danger.” Teela put the mug down with a click. She let out a breath. “I know what we are trying to do here, but if our countrymen are on the line... maybe it's better to let them handle it.”

They had been trying to get food, water, medicine, and shelter for people all over Africa. At first, they concentrated their efforts in East Africa, slowly slipping down, and, now, they were gaining ground in South Africa. The idea being that after they had the necessities the people would be in a place to care about their own countries, their policies and politics, and make the necessary changes. It would be their choice what those changes were, Wakanda only did humanitarian work. But, to prevent graft and stealing, Wakandans dealt with all the money and the resources they handed out, and now, they could be in danger.

Should T'Challa pull the plug because this man, this racist, this Pretorius person, did not like Wakanda? On the one hand, yes, T'Challa should, because it was Pretorius' country, and his financial support said they were not welcome. On the other hand, they were exactly the people that would have to gain on the back of poor, and those people appreciated the help.

“Wakanda will continue the humanitarian work,” T'Challa decided. “We'll circulate interested Doras, especially in South Africa among the volunteers. We'll continue to disassemble the plots aimed at Wakanda.” He hesitated. “We have to start making them with as public as possible. I know that we guessed that Pretorius has contingencies for that, but we'll try to work on as many tiers as we identified. They should be made public around the same time.”

“That'll take some time to organize, but with the Doras, we should have it,” Teela said. “I'm guessing you want the 'why,' sooner rather than later. We'll get somebody to plant bugs.”

“As soon as possible,” T'Challa agreed. “Thank you, Teela.” He abandoned the mountain of data for the moment. “I'm not going to get one of our people hurt or killed, not for my pride, but I won't be scared so easily either. Eduardo's information put us at an advantage, and I don't see this as a good place to turn when we just got an idea about what kind of resistance we face.”

“There's more, isn't there?” Teela asked.

“Why turn against Wakanda?” T'Challa asked rhetorically. “Why not the United States? Or France? Or any number of countries that accord humanity aid? Because we're black? Because we're African? Perhaps, but I'd like to see proof of that. There have been too many things about Pretorius that we would have assumed that had proven to be more complicated on a more in-depth look.  I need as much information as possible when Pretorius is involved.”

Teela started to nod, but then frowned at a screen behind T'Challa. “Eduardo is in Nairobi?” She jutted her chin forward, making T'Challa turn.

It was the news, on a local channel, depicting...

“Unmute, screen two,” T'Challa ordered.

The Stark System they had installed at the Nairobi embassy accepted his verbal request, and suddenly he could hear all about the fire at Hemingways.

**_Me: Where are you?_ **

It seemed the fire wasn't too serious, but T'Challa's heart was beating quicker as he checked nervously his phone.

**Eduardo Ferro: Right where you think I am.**

T'Challa's eyes widened, and just as he was preparing to press call, he received another message.

**Eduardo Ferro: I'm okay.**

**Eduardo Ferro: Wet, but okay.**

“He's fine,” T'Challa announced his voice oddly tense.

“I'm sure you'll feel better after you've seen him.” Teela smiled. “We're done here, anyway, and perhaps his identity will become clear once the security camera gets ahold of him.”

T'Challa didn't feel the need to add anything. It was the truth. He _would_ feel better if he saw Eduardo, and it _would_ be a chance to get him on camera considering that the footage from all the other hotels was compromised in some way. The embassy's system backed up in real time on a server in Wakanda, nobody could get to it there, so this might be the chance to get some answers. Not that T'Challa cared much about Eduardo's name, but it would give Teela and the Doras some piece of mind.

**_Me: Want to come over? Get dry. I'm at the embassy._ **

T'Challa waited a minute, eyes still glued to the screen, until the phone chimed again.

**Eduardo Ferro: Yeah. I'll be right there.**

“He's coming,” T'Challa announced. He smiled at Teela. “You should get your chance to have some footage of him.”

“We'll be out of your way,” Teela said, standing and nodding to him. “Have fun!”

T'Challa tilted his head, suppressing the urge to smirk.

“If you want to say 'always,' I remind you that you only started enjoy yourself recently,” Teela said dryly, not even bothering to to around. “That doesn't mean that I'm not happy for you.” She threw a smile over her shoulder.

T'Challa sat back, his lips slightly curved, wondering what in the hell he was doing. He was content, happy even, joyful, but with that came a lack of objectivity, and he struggled with the subjectivity even in the best of times. T'Challa had a feeling that this could either end up spectacularly bad, or it could be one of the most important things in his life, and he just wished that he could be certain, or, at least, detached enough to be able to calmly think about this because he wasn't alone—he represented an entire tribe, and he was responsible for an entire country. However, there was a part of T'Challa that liked how things progressed. There was something to be said about the natural growth of trust between two people.

For that, of course, T'Challa needed to make sure he and Eduardo were on the same page.

The buzzer at the gate pulled him from his thoughts. T'Challa, glancing at the screen with the footage from the gate, let in Eduardo, and moved to the door. Walking unhurriedly, T'Challa reached it at the same time as Eduardo knocked, so, with a final check, he opened it with a smile.

“Hello,” T'Challa greeted. He stepped back, gesturing Eduardo in. “Come in. How are you?”

Eduardo was soaked. Even with the drive over done on motorcycle, he was visibly wet. “At least we know that the hotel has a good fire alarm system.”

“Yes,” T'Challa said, looking at Eduardo with a smile. He saw how the Eduardo's clothes were clinging to his shoulders, to his biceps, his thighs. T'Challa swallowed, and heard himself said absent-mindedly. “Yes. It's a _very_ good thing.”

Eduardo laughed. “You aren't subtle.” He pushed the door closed with his leg, put his arms around T'Challa's waist, and leaned forward for a kiss. “I'm starting to believe that you don't want to be.”

“Actually,” T'Challa said, but couldn't resist the urge to peck Tony on his lips. “I do have a question for you.” He let himself be caught in a longer kiss. “But I suppose it can wait.”

Eduardo smirked, and T'Challa bit Eduardo's lower lip in reprisal, gaining a moan for his efforts. T'Challa felt himself being pushed backwards, until he met the wall. He let his head fall back with a groan when Eduardo started kissing his neck. The next thing T'Challa knew, his feet lost contact with the floor because Eduardo had lifted him. Eduardo's hands were on T'Challa's ass and thighs, T'Challa had his legs around Eduardo's waist, and his nails were scratching Eduardo's skull and back, through the sodden shirt. 

“Don't look so surprised,” Eduardo chuckled. His wet hair was mussed. His lips were shiny, soft, and curved into a mischievous smile, and his eyes were scrunched up with joy. He looked _so_ handsome. “I lug engines around. Compared to that, you barely weigh a thing.”

That was more attractive than it had the any right to be.

“I don't suppose you take direction,” T'Challa practically purred, as he leaned on the wall, rolling his hips.

Eduardo moaned into his shoulder. “Using that tone?” He bit T'Challa nipple through his shirt, lifting T'Challa a little more, and knocking down a painting in the meantime. “Just say where.”

“One story up. First on the right,” T'Challa described breathlessly. He swallowed. “Better—better let me down.”

“I could.” The mischievous look also appeared in Eduardo's eyes. “Or I could carry you. How about that?”

T'Challa tried to suppress a chuckle, but failed, and he let himself simply enjoy it.

“You are beautiful,” Eduardo said with a quiet sort of awe, while he carried T'Challa confidently up the stairs.

“That's what I was thinking,” T'Challa murmured, and took advantage of the fact that the steps had ended to swoop in for kiss. He had gone too long without one, he was owed. “Close to what I was thinking. Handsome, not beautiful.”

A sunny smile bloomed on Eduardo's face, one that had the power to stop T'Challa breath, and to make his thoughts stutter. He blamed it for not realizing they had reached his bedroom until he was deposited gently on the bed. T'Challa felt his answering smile, as he crawled backwards, and opened his legs in invitation. He had felt safe, incredibly safe in Eduardo's arms, and that's when he realized he had to have that conversation with Eduardo. T'Challa had fallen for Eduardo, and, either way the talk went, what they had couldn't continue.

For the moment, however, T'Challa would enjoy this.

And T'Challa did. He enjoyed Eduardo's kisses, his bites, his caresses, his smiles, and his gentleness. T'Challa enjoyed the sounds he pulled from Eduardo, moans, groans, and whimpers. Eduardo's scent—water, perfume, ozone, sweat, oil, and Eduardo—was driving T'Challa crazy. And Eduardo's strokes inside T'Challa, powerful and constant, made T'Challa feel like he was, at the same time, flying, and staying put. He came with a shout muffled in Eduardo's mouth, bringing him along.

Eduardo collapsed next to T'Challa. They would have to talk, and shower, but they spend long moments nestled next to each other, kissing and petting. Eduardo gave a little, contended, sigh, before he dove in again like he he couldn't help himself. T'Challa smiled broadly, and he leaned back to look at Eduardo.

“We really do need to talk,” T'Challa insisted.

It was getting chilly in the room, probably an aftermath of their recent activities in the climate controlled room, so T'Challa grabbed a thin sheet and put it over them.

Eduardo groaned, and put his forearm over his eyes. “Do you really have to say it like that? I feel like I'm about to be dumped.”

“On the contrary, I wanted to ask you if you would like to start a relationship,” T'Challa said with a laugh.

“Really?”Eduardo asked, eyebrows a little too high to match his nonchalant tone.

“Yes.”

Eduardo hesitated. T'Challa waited. Eduardo fidgeted.

“I am not who... you think I am,” Eduardo said quietly.

 _“_ _Really_ ,” T'Challa said sarcastically.

Eduardo glared at T'Challa.

“If you are referring to your name, I suspected that already, and you don't have to tell me your real one. It matters to the Doras—to Teela—and they will continue… to hound you. But I just need your word that _you_ won't use our relationship to hurt my country.” T'Challa looked down to gather his thoughts. He looked in Eduardo's amber eyes, and said, “I am getting to know you, and that doesn't change because the name you chose to go by is not the name in your papers. It's an important aspect for you, but for me, it's irrelevant. I personally think that you might have your reasons for it, and whether or not I agree with them remains to be seen.”

Eduardo was watching T'Challa with intense focus, not saying anything, so T'Challa continued, “We might not be compatible. You might be a criminal. My constant checks of the information you provide, or the Dora's search for your identity and intentions might be too much for you. That's natural. But you telling me an alias instead of your name? That isn't a problem; not now, at least. I don't know you, but I'd like to have the opportunity to do so.”

Eduardo still hesitated, snagging on something T'Challa had said.

“If I never spoke to you, I never knew you,” T'Challa said firmly, thinking that maybe Eduardo was famous for something, presumably his designs, but not necessarily. More proof for the 'Eduardo is Stark' theory. “Wakandans do not give credence to gossip.”

“That's a cultural thing, isn't it?” Eduardo checked.

T'Challa nodded.

“Okay, okay.” Eduardo scratched at his beard think. “So, I promise not to use our relationship to hurt your country, and I promise to do my best not to hurt your country through any means. Is that okay?”

“Thank you,” T'Challa said quietly. He smiled. “And I promise not to use our relationship to hurt those you care about, and, to the best of my ability, not to hurt them at all. And the Doras will be ordered to keep their distance from your loved ones.”

“Thanks. Thank you.” Tony nodded, but then he frowned. “The Doras are your bodyguards, right?”

T'Challa blinked, surprised at the change of subject. “Yes, Dora Milaje. The Adored Ones. They were supposed to be The Black Panther's wives, but we gave that up a few generations ago. Now they are our elite forces. They also protect the Royal Family.”

Eduardo tilted his head, and smiled. “I...” He rubbed his mouth. “Teela told me last time that somehow you are the ruler of your country. I gather that you are the Black Panther, the famed enhanced meta-human that a lot of people would love to get hands on, otherwise why would their supposed wives protect you? It could be your sister. Or your father, or mother I guess, but since _you_ are the ruler, makes me think differently.”

There was no use denying it.

“I am the Black Panther,” T'Challa admitted. “My father used to wear the mantle, but it passed down to me.”

“I thought Wakanda was supposed to be the richest, most technologically and socially advanced country in the world.”

T'Challa blinked. He didn't like this conversation, and Teela would never hear the end of it. “It is.”

“Then why not make your sister the Black Panther?” Eduardo asked pensively. “You don't like politics, diplomacy, things that you would have to do as a Black Panther.”

“Nobody makes somebody else the Black Panther.” T'Challa had a knot in his stomach. “It's not hereditary.”

“You won it,” Eduardo said with a small, approving smile. He continued apprehensively, “I was trying to make a point. Although, I don't know all there is to know about your country, I do know a lot more about your country than you realize.” Eduardo hesitated. “If we do this, chances are I'm going to find out a lot more.”

T'Challa carefully didn't react. “What else did Teela tell you?”

“She was warning me,” Eduardo said, amused. “She thinks she knows who I really am, and she wanted to put the fear of the Doras in me. It seems that you aren't replaceable.”

“Who does she think you are?”

“You already know.”

T'Challa raised an eyebrow.

Eduardo sighed, and said, “Tony Stark.”

“What else?” T'Challa smirked. He knew now.

“Nothing.” Eduardo lifted his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “You're missing the point.”

“Let's see if I understand,” T'Challa said, and took Eduardo's hand. “You have known for at least a week that I am the Black Panther, and not only did you not say anything to anybody, but you also promised that you'd do your best not to hurt my country. That's what I meant by knowing you. Whatever it is out there about you is gossip that I can't rely on to apply to me, but now I found out a thing about you that does pertain to me: you seem to be honorable.”

“Teela is _very_ scary,” Eduardo said in his defense.  

“Yes, but you don't seem frightened,” T'Challa pointed out. Eduardo wasn't intimidated, he didn't behave like it. If T'Challa had to guess, his characterisation had stung. “If you like it better, let me put it this way: without my discussion of a relationship, I wouldn't have been able to ask for that promise, or to determine you to tell me what you knew.”

“Good point,” Eduardo seemed much more at ease with the uncharitable reasons that T'Challa had offered the second time. “But that doesn't mean that your problem went away.”

“Tell me, if you really wanted to, what could you find out about Wakanda?” T'Challa asked with a raised eyebrow. “Isn't it better to find out from me?” 

Eduardo didn't answer. “Isn't it better to stay off my radar?”

“We didn't. We couldn't. You were in Africa; sooner or later we would have drawn your attention.” T'Challa lifted his hands. “That isn't the reason I approached you. It was the motorcycle. But I can infer too. You designed it—designed her, perhaps. You live at the luxury hotels and money is never a problem so it's not a one-off, you must be a successful engineer. Also, the Doras have had issues with getting footage of you. We're thinking hacking.” He drew a deep breath. “Seeing as you don't like to have your picture taken, and you still didn't hesitate to come here, I'm guessing that something happened, or is about to happen to the cameras or the video, and to the server in Wakanda. After all is not unheard of for embassies to backup their systems in their own country.”

“Wakandan systems are _impregnable_ ,” Eduardo quipped. His eyes lightened with mischief.

“Somehow, I think you found a way,” T'Challa claimed confidently.

“Of course I did,” Eduardo said. He seemed to have reached a decision. “I'm Tony Stark.”

T'Challa smiled.

“You aren't surprised,” Eduardo said. He crossed his arms. “What gave me away?”

“I don't think you tried,” T'Challa confessed. He felt relief when Eduardo bowed his head and chuckled. T'Challa gave him a quick smile. “I wasn't sure until you said your name earlier.”

“How come?” Eduardo asked, confused.

“I have heard your name from at least a hundred mouths, yours is the only one who says it like you are used to it.”

“You haven't heard Pepper say it,” Eduardo said with an amused smile. Something wasn't right. “Ms. Potts?”

“I have heard Ms. Potts say it a number of times,” T'Challa maintained. He leaned forward. “Eduardo, it's not the same.”

Eduardo let out a breath. “It's Tony.”

“Tony,” T'Challa said, and inclined his head.

“Are you sure about the relationship?”

“Yes,” T'Challa nodded. “Everything remains the same as far as I'm concerned.”

“Okay,” Edu—Tony said. “I'd like to give it a shot, but there are a couple of things you should know.”

T'Challa nodded to show that he was listening.

“I'm not going to stop, not yet, I'm not done roaming,” E—Tony started. He waited for T'Challa to nod again. “And another thing. You probably heard, no don't shake your head, you look like bobblehead right now. I won't put you on the dashboard, stop. You _have_ heard that I have issues, I'm confirming that. The most pressing is that I...” He swallowed. “I...”

T'Challa frowned, and drew closer, putting an arm around Tony. Hand rubbing up and down on Tony's bare side, T'Challa could admit that he was worried. Tony didn't seem the type to lose his words.

“I have PTSD,” Tony finally admitted.

And it was not like T'Challa didn't understand why this was hard for Tony to admit, but it didn't come as a shock to T'Challa.

“Again?!” Tony snapped, frustrated. “In my opinion, you should be surprised. If you have to pretend, do it.”

“I have seen PTSD before. I have dealt with its' symptoms,” T'Challa said in his defense. “I know you don't have to be a certain kind of person for it to happen to you, and bad things occur all the time, unfortunately.” He stopped, looking for the right words. “Coming from a medically advanced warrior culture, PTSD is the most common disorder in my country. We still struggle with it.” T'Challa smiled slightly, reassuringly, and let it drop quickly. “No, I wasn't surprised.”

“So you understand why I don't spend the night.”

“I understand why you might not want to, but if it's for my defense, I'll tell you it's unnecessary.” T'Challa looked into Tony's eyes. “I know how to deal with the symptoms, especially the nightmares, but I'll respect your choice.”

Tony kissed T'Challa in understanding, and, T'Challa supposed, a bit of gratitude. It didn't stop there, but then again, it never did before. They were good together, this felt lazy, and sloppy, and happy, there was even the possibility of better things to come in the future, so T'Challa smiled, and tried his best to imprint this moment in his memory.

*

Teela came to T'Challa as he was pondering what he wanted to drink.

“The footage in Wakanda is deleted,” Teela declared, temper tightly held in check.

“Really?” T'Challa said, suppressing a smile at the phrase which was fast becoming a fond language quirk. Annoying, certainly, but he heard Edu-Tony's dry tone every time T'Challa heard it, and it made him want to use it more.

“You know something about this,” Teela said, a bit reproachful, but mostly patient.

“I found out,” T'Challa corrected. “Recently, so there was no time to let you know.”

“A half an hour ago?” Teela asked referring to the time E-Tony left.

“Before, but I was busy,” T'Challa admitted. “No more than an hour and half, two hours maybe. If it had been an emergency you'd have known immediately.”

Teela relaxed. She went to the fridge to take a bottle of water, before she took a seat on the mat in the tribe room, taking advantage of the lack of walls, and watched attentively. Now that the threat had passed, she was content to wait for him to begin.

“Eduardo Ferro is Tony Stark by his own admission,” T'Challa began. “I didn't ask for proof, but I think that the lack of footage points us in that direction. He doesn't have any of the distinctive scars, but he's both an engineer and a hacker, and he looks a lot like his photo if you ignore the color scheme.”

“His name is a combination of Stark's middle name and the metal he was known for in his mother's language,” Teela added.

“And he is unusually familiar with the name 'Tony Stark',” T'Challa finished. “Are we prepared to say that it's likely to be him?”

Teela nodded. “We are.”

“Good.” T'Challa crossed his legs at the ankles, leaning back on the counter. “That doesn't mean we should let the hacking happen. It is my desire to use...” he hesitated, stumbling over the correct name, “Tony interfering with our systems as an opportunity to grow and learn. We're going to find out how did it, and enforce our firewalls so it doesn't happen again.”

“Agreed.”

“There's also the matter of your sharing information with Tony without my knowing about it.”

“It's within my purview.” Teela frowned.

“You can hand out information at your discretion, yes,” T'Challa allowed. “But when it comes to keeping me out of the loop, that's when things change. Doubly so when I'm confronted with it.”

Teela bowed her head. “Understood. What do you want to do?”

“I want us to be better.”

“It's not going to happen again,” Teela promised.

T'Challa nodded, and turned to his kettle.

“So...” Teela said a smile in her voice. “Tony.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

T’Challa sighed. He took a deep breath, and leaned further into the shadows. His phone gave a warning creak. Making an effort to unclench his fist, he sighed and deposited the phone in his pocket. And then, very carefully, he stopped thinking. For a second, there was a lot of white noise in his head and not much else.

Today was his final day in Kenya, and seeing as Tony had no plans whatsoever to join T’Challa yet, it was also the last day there were going to see each other for a while. T’Challa would miss him. They had three dates, where they talked, actually talked face to face, and it brought a spectacular dimension to their relationship. Having added that, along with all the existing components, it was going to be hard to resort only to virtual communication. They would, but T’Challa wanted to have a pleasant dinner while he still could.

It seems that T’Challa had not chosen well the night.

T’Challa didn’t know how long he stood on the restaurant terrace. He was in the shadows, to the right of the light spilling from within, but visible enough for his enhanced senses to pick up Nareema on the roof of next building signaling a quick update on his status. He had just finished letting her now he was fine, when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Are you alright, sir?” A waiter had come looking. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“No,” T’Challa answered, sparing a glance for the waiter. “I am fine.”

“Fanaka, I’ve got this,” Tony said in English, appearing suddenly. “You can go back. Thank you.”

Tony had used his presence in Africa to support a lot of local businesses, the restaurant among them. He gave the money, and encouraged them to do as much good as they could. T’Challa didn’t know if it was working or not, though he was inclined to say that it did, but what couldn’t be denied was the immediate effect it had on the people working here: Tony was more than an honored guest, he was a friend.

“Of course, Tony.” Fanaka stepped into the restaurant. “Desert should be along soon.”

T’Challa didn’t hear Tony say anything, but T’Challa heard the soft sound of hair rubbing against the collar of a shirt, so he presumed that Tony nodded.

“What’s got you spooked, Anakin?” Tony asked with a small, comforting smile.

“Anakin?”

Tony grinned widely. “You get scared, you go into the shadows.”

T’Challa inclined his head. “You may have a point.” He lifted an arm invitingly. “Come to the dark side.”

“But you don’t have cookies,” Tony laughed, taking his hand, and stepping closer. “Fanaka said they will be at our table soon, so your pitch is flawed. I’m getting _farther_ from the cookies.”

“And yet.” T’Challa couldn’t resist preening a bit.

Tony mock pouted. “I wouldn’t be the first one seduced to the dark side, would I?” He snaked his arms around T’Challa’s waist. “You haven’t answered the question.”

“News from home.” T’Challa sighed. He leaned his forehead against Tony’s for a long moment, before hiding his head in Tony’s shoulder and looping one arm around Tony’s neck. “It isn’t a new problem, but it is one that I am particularly sensitive towards.”

“Would talking help?” Tony was... concerned? Annoyed? No, concerned. But he was trying to hide it.

“I think we’ll have to get to it eventually.” T’Challa sighed. “In person would be better, but I wanted us to have a nice evening.”

“Who’s to say we won’t?” Tony asked, and smirked.

T’Challa chuckled, and lifted his head to be able to see Tony better. “It’s about my second mother,” he began, but at Tony’s visible confusion, T’Challa changed tracks. “Ramonda isn’t my birth mother, but she raised me as her own since I was little. Thus the second mother. My birth mother died when I was born.”

Tony was upset and sympathetic, then almost immediately he was _very_ skeptical, and then he was horrified.

“You’re wondering how come my mother manged to die at childbirth in the most technologically, and medically, advanced country,” T’Challa said, face and tone blank.

“It happened to Padme,” Tony shot back, and his eyes widened, while his arms twitched.

T’Challa smiled, at peace with his mother’s death. “I would’ve thought you hated the prequels movies.”

“I do.” Tony had a pained expression. “But that’s not important. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” T’Challa said, and he even meant it. It didn’t hurt much talking about a woman he had no memory of, but brought him in this world. That the person he was telling this to was Tony made it easier. “They were in South Africa, in Cape Town, when she went for a swim.

“Something happened, I suppose, and she almost drowned. Luckily that didn’t happen, but the stress of it sent her into labor. She succeeded in giving birth to me, but her suffering of secondary drowning went unnoticed as she only had one doctor with her, and he was, understandably, preoccupied with me.” T’Challa lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “The medical system in South Africa was less than spectacular, and the plane ride to Wakanda took too long. She died.”

Tony took a step forward, and had T’Challa in a hug before he even realized it. Just as fast Tony let go, but he didn’t go far, letting his arm rub down T’Challa’s forearms. T’Challa could see the sympathy in Tony’s eyes, sympathy that he apparently had problems verbalizing. It was alright, because when T’Challa went for an embrace of his own volition, Tony didn’t hesitate to hold tight.

“Are you ready to go in?” T’Challa asked after a few moments. “This is the part that annoys me, and I’d like to be able to concentrate on something else.”

“You just want the cookies promised when you choose the Dark Side,” Tony whispered.

T’Challa smiled a bit, and nudged Tony in the direction of the restaurant.

“After N’Yami’s—my birth mother—death, my father became a bit... obsessed with South Africa. He wanted to revolutionize… well, everything about the country.” T’Challa watched his reflection in the wine glass. “I think he wanted, or wished, it would never happen again. The obsession started to ease after a short while, when he realized that he needed a plan, and he wasn’t prepared to extend our resources so far south. But he kept coming back, doing whatever he could to help the people.”

Taking a sip, T’Challa continued, “During his travels he met my second mother, Ramonda. He married her, had Shuri, and lived happily as far I know.”

“This is going to end badly, isn’t it,” Tony said, expression caught between dread, and intent listening.

“Ramonda ended up disappearing last year,” T’Challa told Tony, not wanting to drag it out any further. “She left a phone message saying she fell out of love, and had left without stating her destination because she didn’t trust my father not to follow her.”

Tony frowned, dropped his hand casually over T’Challa’s, gave it a squeeze, and then kept it there.

“My father backed off immediately. The one who she should have been wary of was me.” T’Challa’s cheeks heated. “Not something I’m proud of, but, even with my reservations, I made sure to check the message for ambient sound, stress in the voice, and anything else they might discover. It was made from a low-quality phone in a bathroom. There was no way to tell if she was being pressured into making that call, or she was simply fearful. It was the only message she left.”

“Until now?”

T’Challa nodded. “She left my sister a voicemail congratulating her on her engagement, and expressing her regrets on not being able to make it, because—”

“She was afraid of your father,” Tony finished. “Right. Got that. You mentioned reservations?”

“Power imbalance,” T’Challa asserted. “I have always been sensitive to the sort of power I had. The potential for abuse is huge, but I only saw that side once I left the country. When I was a child I could only tell how different people treated me, and how hard it was to find someone who was themselves around me. You must know how that feels.”

“I might have an idea,” Tony admitted with a smile.

“But I eventually saw the other side, and how people use that sort of influence with no compunction.”

“That must’ve been a barrel of laughs.” Tony squeezed T’Challa’s hand again. “You were the first one who saw it in their relationship, didn’t you?”

“A king and an ordinary citizen from another, poorer country. It took me a while,” T’Challa admitted, still not over how much time it took. “I didn’t want to think of something that I believed to be wrong being under my nose the entire time without me noticing it.”

“You did notice it.”

“Eventually,” T’Challa qualified. “I was in the position to see things from two perspectives: on the one hand, how could she be expected to say ‘no’ to my father; on the other, maybe they loved each other, and not in a dysfunctional way. Ramonda always struck me as fiercely independent. I knew her as a person who would not allow somebody to tell her what to do, and I realized she was offended and humiliated by my thoughts on the matter when I questioned her about it once. I never asked again. So, against my best judgment I left them to their relationship, and I strove to apply my values to my own.”

Tony’s eyes lightened with his own realization. “And here I thought you liked me for my body and how I use it,” he mock pouted, but it his eyes remained somber.

“No matter what I thought about you, I had to make sure you had power on your own before I went any further,” T’Challa confessed, willing Tony to understand.

“That’s fair,” Tony said neutrally. “As far as expectations go, I think you’re safe with that.”

“I needed to know that you can say ‘no,’ if you so wished,” T’Challa said in his defense. “It’s more of a need than an expectation, because it’s such a sensitive subject to me.” He sighed. “Other than that, we will get to know each other, and we’ll see how we mesh.”

“Does that ever work?”

“It has worked before in the sense that I could see what doesn’t.”

“That can helpful,” Tony said, and nodded. “Sometimes that’s the only information you can get.”

T’Challa’s slight tension melted and he smiled.

Tony raised his eyebrows, and offered a self-satisfied grin. “So what’s next with the family, Poirot?”

“Analyze the message, argue with my sister, and try to keep myself from tracking Ramonda down so I’ll see she’s fine.”

“What’s Marie’s take on this?”

“Why Marie?” T’Challa asked bewildered.

“The daughter cat?”

T’Challa snorted and said, “Shuri doesn’t like me running diagnostics on the message. She thinks our mother should be able to do as she likes, as we all are. If she wants to disappear, then that’s what she wants.” He took another sip of wine. “Shuri has a lot of power in Wakanda, but she never feared it, she never thought the disadvantages are as great as I tend to do. And—perhaps as a consequence of that or that’s simply how she thinks—she has a lot of confidence that people are making their own choices. She doesn’t believe that people would bend to any kind of pressure. I used to think that it was the only way she could function, her... coping mechanism if you will, but now, I realize that she’s so confident in her own abilities that for her there isn’t any other way.”

“That’s an interpretation,” Tony offered. “I couldn’t afford that kind of intention rewriting in my country, but I don’t know Wakanda.”

“It’s funny,” T’Challa said pensively, “because she thinks of me as being the perfect one, the golden one who somehow manages to emerge from dung smelling of flowers. And I do have generally greater success than her, but she’s the one with the complete self-assurance.”

“Ah, so you’re the perfect son, huh?” Tony asked with a smile, but something was wrong. T’Challa couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew he was right.

“I’m stubborn, and I don’t let things go,” T’Challa claimed, and Tony’s expression became closed-off. T’Challa ignored the knot in his stomach, noting while he was at it that he didn’t like it when Tony was upset with him, and went on, “There are always in the back of my head, churning, rotating, until I devise the best way forward through whatever problem arises. I keep working on what elements I do have, even at ones I already found a solution, because most of the time, I can find a better one. I believe in my capacity to make mistakes, and my ability to improve.” He added, honest and not willing to hide, “That’s who I am.” 

Franka came with the desert, and T’Challa nodded his thanks absent-mindedly, his focus on Tony’s reactions.

Tony made a hilarious face. “Did you have to put it like that?” He thanked Franka, and glared at the luxurious cake. “You tinker. I do that too.” He sighed. “The whole perfect son thing, though, reminded me of someone else.” Tony looked at T’Challa, and offered him an empty smirk. “You know Captain America. I didn’t think I had anything in common with him.”

“And what do you have in common?” T’Challa asked, and reversed the grip on Tony’s hand.

“We don’t let things go,” Tony reveled. “We’re both stubborn. Well, now it’s the three of us, but my point still stands.”

“This distresses you,” T’Challa said, quietly relived that his character hadn’t proven to be an insurmountable problem. “You know, you are also right handed like a lot of people, villains even, and yet the hands are nothing alike.”

Tony smiled slightly, a sure sign that he was going to think about T’Challa’s point further, and gave T’Challa’s hand a last squeeze, before taking his hand to give them both access to their desert. “But if Rogers is a perfect everything, and I’m not, how did Shuri came to see you as her very own Rogers?”

“It’s a lot of things. But I think I can give you an example: I can tell you about the time we were in a fighting match for the Black Panther.” T’Challa smiled slightly, remembering. “It lasted a long time—which is especially exhausting for hand to hand combat—and neither of us were winning. My sister was the better warrior, but I was the one who wouldn’t give up. If she beat my attack, I’d try a different one, if she defended against that too, I’d try a third one. And if she’d attack, I’d somehow find my way out of it.

“In the end, she conceded, and I have no idea why I won,” T’Challa confessed. “She may have thought that since I wanted it so badly, she’d let me have it. I’d like to think that our country means more to her than that, but I will never know. Perhaps she supposed I’m willing to put more of myself in it since it was so important to me. Or perhaps it was how I framed the situation: I was not giving up, and as always she preferred to adapt. It might have been as she said and she indeed thought I had what it takes to be the Black Panther. Our standstill ended after nearly four hours with my having something we both initially wanted.”

“Hercules and Xena,” Tony asserted, sounding impressed. “Don’t ask me which is which ‘cause I’m not prepared to answer that.” He chuckled. “Your sister’s into politics, and she’s good at it—she’s adaptable, you said. So why were you trying so hard to be someone you’re not?”

For several seconds, T’Challa thought about his answer. Nobody had asked him that before. In Wakanda people were expected to want to be Black Panther.

“Because it’s not about politics,” T’Challa said finally. “Shuri was right in what she said, as she often is. She can handle the diplomacy side—in country because she hates travelling with a passion; calls everyone idiots every three seconds when she’s not in a familiar environment—and she does a better job because everyone tends to miscalculate their approach: either they think her a slave to her temper, and granted she emotes loudly, but she has a cool head; perceive her unwillingness to leave Wakanda as a weakness; or they underestimate her because of her gender.  Long story short, they are fools and she enjoys having them for dinner.” Tony snorted, and T’Challa grinned widely. Circling back to the issue at hand, T’Challa put it as plainly as he could, “No, it’s about tinkering, and not giving up.”

“It better be,” Tony said, and smiled shrewdly.

T’Challa frowned, sensing a hidden warning, but he wasn’t sure what it was about.  “What’s the ‘or else?’“

“Dilemmas, in my experience, are tiring.” Tony’s lips curved in an exhausted smile of somebody who had fought hard, but didn’t win. “I found something I couldn’t tinker, and just about destroyed me.”

T’Challa extended his leg in a knee jerk reaction to show Tony support. It was unnatural to see Tony so downtrodden, and T’Challa was ready to say whatever it took to make that expression disappear. But he couldn’t. He had to first find out what the problem was and to analyze it seriously. Only after that T’Challa could say something about the situation. All that T’Challa could do now was listen intently.

“In the portal I saw things that... defied physics: flying whales and Chiaturi floating through open space without being inconvenienced by things that would have killed humans; ships like huge boulders just hanging there, but being able to move on queue if necessary. They merrily ignored many laws of physics, and of biology that we’ve spend centuries studying. It was insane. When I think about an attack of creatures like that without being slowed down to a tickle somewhere far away from Earth where I can conveniently bomb them without risking the planet...” Tony swallowed audibly, his breathing quickened, and his eyes widened. He said quietly, “It’s more than I can defend against.”

And T’Challa was stunned. He hadn’t been aware of what Tony had seen in the portal—Tony didn’t say after the event, and nobody thought to ask as far as T’Challa knew. That was terribly irresponsible when T’Challa thought about it. He understood Tony, but not the rest of the world. What Tony described was frightening for the whole world, doubly so when considered through Tony’s perspective, and leaving him to deal with that on his own was cruel.

T’Challa placed his arm on the table, palm facing up. It was an offer of comfort, and it depended on Tony if he accepted it or not. But he did accept it, and easily. In fact, Tony didn’t seem to think it was something to ponder, and as soon as T’Challa’s palm hit the table, Tony’s hand started to join it. That gave T’Challa hope. It meant that Tony was still open to support, and, maybe with T’Challa offering it, Tony would realize that he wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t only his job to defend to world. Even if he didn’t figure it out on his own, that was all right, because T’Challa could both say it, and do everything possible to be believed.

“I built suits, but those were just... multiple headwear on the same firehouse.” Tony shook his head, clearly despairing. “It wasn’t working, and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop. I had panic attacks, nightmares, flashbacks, couldn’t go back to New York, couldn’t sleep... PTSD. All I could do was tinker. My relationship with Pep, it was... She tried to help, she did.” He sighed.

“She didn’t know what it entitled?”  T’Challa offered.

“In the end, she had it too,” Tony said with a pained expression settled in like an old friend. “And we didn’t work anymore.”

“It’s normal.” T’Challa said gently. “When people don’t have similar or complimentary ways of dealing with trauma, they are driven further apart. It happens, and it’s nobody’s fault.”

“How about when somebody’s PTSD is the other person’s fault?” Tony chuckled bitterly.

T’Challa waited patiently to receive more details.

“There was this guy, this _actor_ although I didn’t know it at the time, playing a terrorist. I offered my help, but the military told me to back off—they could handle it. And I did.” Tony smiled, and it was all teeth. “But then my friend got blown up, because he was protective, and jealous, and followed around the wrong guy.

“Then I threatened the actor, and, surprise, the puppeteer was apparently was explicitly against me.” Tony looked fed up. “This guy had such bullshit reasoning, too. He was pissed that I was an ass to him once at a conference’s New York Eve party while drunk, and taking somebody to my room.” He looked at T’Challa appraisingly. “Granted, you would have probably treated better someone who was trying to do business in those conditions, but I am clearly not qualified for sainthood.”

T’Challa frowned and severely doubted his polite dismissal, or that of the Doras, if someone were to approach him in similar conditions.

“Anyway, Partypooper kidnaps Pepper and injects her with an unstable, very painful serum.” Tony seemed disgusted, and angry, feelings that T’Challa could understand all too easily. “It’s Villain 101: commit crimes, don’t forget to be a diva, and never, ever limit your destruction. Pepper almost got killed, and I was—you guessed it—watching helplessly while asking myself what happened to just punching the guy you can’t stand.” He lifted his shoulder in a despondent move, and shook his head. “My fault, and I couldn’t do anything. But the thing that really gets to me is that it was so petty. It caught me off guard. So dilemma: how can I defend the world, when I’m the guy that inspires so much hate?”

T’Challa met Tony’s eyes. “By reminding everybody that they live on this planet and as such they need it whole; by gathering people who agree that they would contribute to its defense, people who are willing and able to bring something to the table,” T’Challa said surely. “New questions spring from that, of course, but this isn’t something that is hinging on your ability to make friends” He tightened his hold on Tony’s hand. “Wakanda recognizes that it _exists_ on Earth, and no matter what happens to our relationship, the safety of the planet is important for the country. We will fight alongside you.”

“I can see you trying not to say ‘obviously,’” Tony said wryly.

“It’s an issue that seems—”

“Self-evident?!”

“Yes.”

Tony’s eyes sparkled. “And yet.”

“Yet there are people that think differently,” T’Challa admitted. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asked pensively. “Whether people are stupid, distracted, misinformed, uninformed, or are just seeing things differently?”

“Does it matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“On such obvious things, like protecting the planet, does what they think while they don’t agree matter?” Tony challenged. “Or do you lose time trying to convince them, time that can be used usefully elsewhere?”

“Perhaps both can be done, if there are enough people.”

Tony was silent for a bit, and T’Challa took a bite of his desert one-handed, giving him time.

“If it helps—with your family, I mean—I have permanent residence in South Africa,” Tony finally threw in. “It was the first African country I visited. I’m in the process of getting my driving license.”

“Financially independent visa?” T’Challa asked, because it was easier than acknowledging his amazement and joy at Tony’s implied offer of partnership.

“Yeah, and it’s a great way to attract money in the country, if you have the stomach to do it.” Tony shrugged. “It even makes sense, which is always great.”

T’Challa chuckled, and knowing that his window to speak about Tony’s gesture was closing, he said, “Thank you for your offer, but most of all, for what it means.”

“I would have done it no matter what,” Tony asserted, and T’Challa had no reason to doubt that, but he thought that Tony’s warm smile was more important, because it was still there, after everything. That made T’Challa respond automatically with his own wide grin.

 


	5. Chapter 5

T’Challa frowned as he read the notice on his holodisplay. It was from Okoye, and it said: ‘a motorcycle is asking for you at the southern border.’ He sat up, locked his work station so he wouldn’t lose any progress if somebody had to use the same station while he was gone, and hurried to the transport bay.

“What does _that_ mean?” Okoye asked curiously, as she joined him from the comm bay.

“I’m not sure,” T’Challa answered.

Teela slid into the driver’s seat. “We think it’s Tony. Whether it’s good news or not, that remains to be seen.”

T’Challa didn’t say anything, but after an exchange of glances, Teela accelerated the hovercar.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” Teela asked.

While T’Challa recognized that it was Teela’s way of calming him by forcing him to review the information he possessed, and at the same time an opportunity for her to be brought up to speed, it was nonetheless useful.

“This morning,” T’Challa answered. He had been in Wakanda for a week, and he missed Tony a little, so they had spoken more often.

Teela nodded. “Is it any reason why he’d record a message and send it by hovercycle?”

“I think there’s a possibility that the hovercycle is its own AI,” T’Challa reveled.

“You think he built an AI,” Okoye concluded.

“I do,” T’Challa confirmed.

Teela accelerated.

*

“Priiinceee T’Chaaaaaaallaaaaaa!” a shrill voice shouted, and T’Challa found himself doubting the entirety of Tony’s decisions that brought Tony to the point where he thought that a voice like that was a good idea.

“Hello.” T’Challa approached the hovercycle. It had been brought inside the border, but was inside a transparent shield so she couldn’t explode, or launch an attack—be it chemical, biological, or cyber. “We haven’t been introduced.”

“Hi. I’m Fran. Mr. Ferro’s in trouble.”

Teela blinked. “Give more details,” she ordered.

“We were attacked,” Fran complained shrilly. “And he said go left. I asked what he was going to do but he just told me to go. I’m not stupid, I know he was going to do something dumb, but there was nothing I could do without putting in him in greater danger. I thought about staying anyway, but it might have distracted him, and in the end I listened.” She actually sounded upset, though less so as she sighed and confessed, “But I talked to Jarvis about hacking into a satellite to find you, and it turned out he went in your direction, so I doubled back. I haven’t seen him, but I told your people to call you, Your Highness.” She sounded uncertain, but then she continued abashedly, “I have no problem making myself heard.”

“You did well, Fran,” T’Challa soothed. “What direction did you come from?”

“I came from the southwest...” Fran’s tone changed, becoming dry as she said, “It’s right next to the direction Mr. Ferro’s is running out of.”

T’Challa blinked at the techno-organic trees that made up the southern border, _knowing_ that it was impossible to see through them, but looking nonetheless. It shouldn’t have been such a relief to see Okoye, Teela, Suna and N’Iarj turn in the direction Fran mentioned, but it was. T’Challa rolled his eyes.

“What do you expect to see?” T’Challa directed the question mostly to his Border Commanders.

“Ah, we’ll tell you when we see it, sir,” Suna answered sheepishly.

“I’m still connected to the satellite,” Fran volunteered.

N’Iraj opened her mouth, probably to mention the shield, but Teela stopped her by mumbling something about ‘damn Stark’ and ‘AIs.’

T’Challa ignored them, as he asked, “Is he alone?” His first duty was to his country, and he’d never foolishly endanger any citizen, but that didn’t mean that he was unable to help Tony. T’Challa just needed to have as much information as time allowed him.

“Yes,” Fran said. “Wait!” she shouted. “No, he’s—yes, he is.”

“Give me the feed,” T’Challa ordered.

Suna stepped forward, but stopped when Fran activated some kind of hologram with the satellite feed, and after a moment, another hologram appeared with Wakanda’s border feed.

There was Tony, and he was bleeding, something that Fran didn’t think to mention, and wasn’t worrying about—perhaps because she was an AI and hadn’t learned yet that when humans leak blood it’s bad. Somebody exploded from a bush, but only got one shot off, before he got his head bashed in by Tony, and his suddenly acquired branch. Tony then turned towards the border, watching the trees in amazement, completely ignoring the fact that he was hurt.

“I didn’t hack anything,” Fran was saying in her defense. “You were going to show him anyway on that comm bracelet, I just intercepted the signal and showed it along with the footage I already had access to.”

T’Challa ignored her words for the moment, “Have backup on call, get out your batons, activate the border shield, and open the pedestrian entrance.”

It was done a minute later, but Tony became distracted by whatever he saw, and it left him vulnerable when another two people came out shooting. When they directed the bullets in Tony’s direction, T’Challa flinched. But then they pinged, a sharp and bright sound, T’Challa shortly shook his head, and tried to make sense of the image on the feed: Tony encased in metal. It wasn’t an illusion. His skin, his eyes, even his hair, had a metallic sheen. It wasn’t the Iron Man suit, but it was more than enough to block the shots.

Tony didn’t even pay attention to the men, he remained turned toward the entrance, and grinned. He moved curiously, eyes burning a clear blue in his metal face, feeling the edges of the shield, to the befuddlement of the two men who were shooting him. T’Challa drew a breath so he could order the lowering of the shield, mentally calculating where his people were supposed to stand when it was brought down so they wouldn’t be hurt by any stray bullets, when Tony phased through the vibranium-based barrier.

Silence followed.

The first to recover, if one could call it that, was T’Challa who ordered, “Close the entrance.”

Suna was the second when he listened to T’Challa.

“Hello, Gorgeous,” Tony quipped, still grinning widely. “Fran, you made it!”

“You too, Mr. Ferro!” Fran shouted.

“What just happened?” T’Challa asked. Then, remembering himself, he added somewhat lamely, “Hello.”

Tony put his hands up, in a universal gesture for ‘don’t shoot.’ “I tinkered myself into some improvements.” His skin slowly became visible, like an ink stain in reverse. The blood that had come from a cut on his forearm was still there, but the wound had closed.

T’Challa took a breath, felt the ground on his feet, regained his stability, and he made up mind. “Will you join me into an interview room, and make every effort to not attack me or my country in any way, including cyber?”

Tony grin turned mischievous. “I will.” His eyes shone with suppressed amusement. “I bet you didn’t think you’d ever need to say that, and mean it.”

Chuckling, T’Challa briefly closed his eyes. “If I had to mean it at some point, I said it in the best possible circumstances.” He offered Tony an encouraging look, as T’Challa asked, “Do you need a doctor?” When Tony seemed unconvinced, T’Challa added, “Perhaps a non-intrusive scan?”

“Is that fretting I hear?” Tony jokingly asked.

“Is that an agreement?” T’Challa shot back.

Tony opened his arms invitingly, and T’Challa stepped into his hug.

“Yes,” T’Challa answered quietly, at the same as Tony confirmed in return.

T’Challa stepped back. He signaled to Teela to call for a doctor, and looked to N’Iraj to choose an interview room. Once they had their tasks, T’Challa turned to Fran.

“What about you?” T’Challa asked Fran. “Will you make every effort not to attack the country or anyone in it?”

Fran giggled. “I will.”

T’Challa nodded, and signaled to Suna to deactivate the shield. “Somebody will give you a crash course on our laws, with an interest in cyber laws.” He directed a questioning look at Okoye, who nodded to confirm her agreement. “You will go with Okoye to familiarize yourself with the country, after which you will be my honored guests. Welcome to Wakanda.”

“But not yet?” Fran’s voice creaked in amusement.

“Your visit is sudden, but well received,” T’Challa said, with a smile.

“Okay, I guess.” Fran then revved her engine, flashing her lights in Okoye direction. “Want a ride?”

T’Challa left Okoye trying to figure out if she should be professional or live a little as was her custom, and followed N’Iraj up the stairs to an interview room.

“Thank you for indulging me,” T’Challa said. “You have some unexpected abilities next to you being extremely capable and intelligent, so I owe my country some answers.”

“It’s okay.” Tony had put his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting to come to Wakanda for the same reason.”

T’Challa frowned. “I don’t see how.”

“More problems for you,” Tony answered promptly. “And uncomfortable questions for me.”

Sighing, T’Challa gestured for Tony to enter the room. “I’m sorry about this.”

Tony shrugged again, and took a seat. “So what do you want to know?”

“I think it’s best to start with things that you should be aware of. Wakanda would like to enter a mutual beneficial relationship with you, which mainly consists of hacking each other,” T’Challa started.

Tony seemed lost, it was clearly not what he was expecting, and T’Challa went on, “However, I would like your assurance—as you will have ours—that none of our information gets to others, and for that purpose we’d like to sign a contract. I would additionally like to have your word.”

Tony found his equilibrium, so now he was listening intently.

“As for our laws, they don’t differ that much from your own. Any attack physical or otherwise is best left unanswered. If you have to, call a member of the Wakandan law enforcement—you’ll recognize them by the black uniform and bright yellow armbands—or a Dora. Because you are my guest, a Dora would probably be closer, if not already intervening. If circumstances are dire, you will indeed be allowed to act in self-defense,” T’Challa explained.

T’Challa waited for Tony’s nod, and once he got it, T’Challa moved on, “We have the usual laws, against theft, rape, fraud, and a number of others that you probably won’t do, but you will be provided a bead bracelet, that I’ll show you how to use, with the materials in their entirety if you want to learn about more. It will also be your primary mode of communication for the duration of your visit, as phones are not very popular in Wakanda, and have my identity already integrated. Furthermore, we have our temples for the Panther God, which are fairly obvious, and we’d very much like it if you treated them with respect, or not enter them at all if that is impossible for whatever reason. And, to underline a previously discussed point, for the hacking to be legal, the contract must be signed first. Any questions?”

“The Doras are going to be my bodyguards or my babysitters?”

“At this point, your stay here is undermined,” T’Challa said, and shrugged. “Based on your wish not to be here, I’d hazard a guess that it’s not going to be permanent.” Tony laughed, and T’Challa spared a moment to smile at him, way too fondly. “As such, you will be here as my guest, so the answer your looking for is ‘both’. When you’re not in the Palace, in our Cyber Centre, or in the company of a member of a Royal Family, one of our cyber people, or a Tribe member over the age of twenty, a Dora will accompany you. After all, Wakanda is at least as dangerous like any other country you’re not familiar with.”

“I’m not familiar with Kenya, Tanzania, Mozambique, or South Africa and I handled that okay,” Tony protested.

“That’s true,” T’Challa acknowledged. “Do you remember the last time we had dinner together, I talked about the power I had, and the curious behavior some people had, or those people’s families? It’s striking to see the lengths they would go to find something to hold over me.”

“Is this you trying to tell me in a roundabout way that I’m in danger?” Tony asked confusedly. “I can take care of myself.” He frowned and leaned back. “Ah.” Tony smiled quickly. “That’s it. You can’t have somebody you are responsible for be attacked, just as you can’t have somebody you’re responsible for attack someone else. That’s you can’t afford.”

“That’s what I can’t afford now,” T’Challa allowed. “We have only agreed to date for less than a month, and this is the first time you’re visiting. I can’t tell you to wait before making a decision because I have no say. What I can claim is that I have faith in the Wakandan people, I like to think I know them, and—”

“You think it’s going to get better.”

“You could always tinker,” T’Challa suggested, smiling.

Tony’s head snapped up, and he watched T’Challa intently. T’Challa didn’t know what he was looking for, so he struggled to keep his open expression under Tony’s laser focus. When Tony suddenly laughed— delighted, eyes scrunching up as T’Challa secretly liked best—T’Challa felt like he had passed a hurdle. He released a breath, smiling tremulously; glad that they could make the things they had in common work.

“I guess it’s my turn now,” Tony said wryly. “No one else is going to see the information I stumble upon without you knowing first, I give you _my word_.” He said the last a bit dramatically, but T’Challa suspected Tony was honest.

So T’Challa nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I could leave now, just say the word, I hadn’t planned on staying. Anyway, I’m not going to be here more than a week. Ten days at most. I’m seeing things more clearly, and I’ve got to see how the company is doing. Soothe some feathers, ruffle others.” 

“We’d be delighted to have you for at least a full ten days,” T’Challa said easily.

“And I wouldn’t get too excited, I’m going to have to see that contract until I sign it,” Tony warned.

“I wasn’t expecting anything else.”

Tony lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “About the healing, and the metal skin, and the hair and eye color—remember me telling you about an unstable serum? I tinkered.”

“So it’s now a stable serum that enhances... What?”

“Healing, in its simplest form.”

“Healing,” T’Challa repeated slowly.  “You made the medical discovery of our time.” He was amazed, and sounded like it. “A serum like that would be something craved for even in Wakanda.” They had their own ways of enhancement, the heart shaped herb, but it wasn’t nearly enough to give to all the citizens of Wakanda, never mind the punishment they’d receive from the Panther God.

“I didn’t invent it.” Tony took a deep breath. “Listen, first things second, so I’ll begin with me because I’m not going to say it twice. This is not a form that can be controlled by everyone. My serum is customized for a programmer’s mind, and it allows me to rewrite certain things that have to do with my body, but also to connect with different things outside of it, like your shield. It doesn’t only enhance healing, though that is a part of it. That’s all I have to give right now,” Tony explained somberly. “And what should have been the first thing said, the form that can be managed by everyone can—and has—been used improperly. It’s not pretty, and I’ve made enough weapons. The serum stays with me.”

“It’s your right,” T’Challa agreed. They didn’t have any right to it, and if he needed to repeat that to himself a couple of times before he could say with conviction, it simply meant that he cared about his people. “However, you might want to think if it’s the sort of thing that you’ll be willing to share with others in case of a planet-wide attack.” If they were attacked by aliens again, he’d make sure his people were as protected as possible.

Tony tilted his head. “I’d think you are mocking me there Boy Scout, but you’re too serious.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You believe me.”

It was T’Challa’s turn to be confused. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

And it wasn’t. Tony was the only one who had entered the portal, and he was scared, and worried, but still rational. Plus he hadn’t said anything unexpected, not really, but T’Challa hadn’t thought about it at the time, or any other time since, until Tony told him. Perhaps it was too new, too unexpected, too frightening, or simply Wakanda’s isolationism had affected T’Challa more than he thought and he was under the mistaken impression it didn’t concern him.

“I thought you’d advocate calm over panic,” Tony argued.

“I accept that there’s an alien threat, because they attacked. The reason might have been the Tesseract—yes, I know about the Cosmic Cube, we have hackers too—but it poses a problem: if the aliens are similar to humans, and it seems that they are, it means that they have different interests, some good for us, some bad, or neutral.” T’Challa hesitated, thought about continuing, but at the same time he didn’t want to spike Tony’s paranoia. “I propose we move in such a way as to not let fear rule us, but still take appropriate measures to allow us to defend those we are responsible for.”

Tony smirked without it reaching his eyes. “Say it. Whatever you’re hiding, just say it.”

T’Challa closed his eyes, dismayed. “I think that the Chitauri were soldiers Loki manipulated into your path, thus doing his best at destroying both groups. But he didn’t escape, as he could have in the chaos of the battle. Perhaps it was because of injures he had received, but he went home. Why? I can’t be sure, but I guess somebody is indeed coming. There’s a General somewhere,” he admitted quietly. “And yes, there is a chance that they died with their army. It was suspiciously hive-brained, but there’s still a chance that it’s the way the particular species is.”

“A General,” Tony repeated. “Of course you’d think like that. You’re one too. And that’s the sort of people you want in your alliance, people with resources, and responsibilities, not a strike team, you’re thinking leaders of countries... Maybe even Doom. You’d think about what he can do before what kind of person there is. In fact, I’d bet you’ve already thought about how that would work, because you’d never leave the fate of _your people_ to him. Councils? An hierarchy?” He chuckled, pensively. “Black Panther, Chieftain of Wakanda.” 

“I _am_ the Black Panther, Chieftain of Wakanda,” T’Challa declared. There was no use in denying the truth. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Tony answered, seemingly bewildered. “Why would—no, I’m disappointed in me. I was trying to make Fury’s way thinking somehow fit a broader context, and I was the person with the resources in that scenario. I didn’t even consider—I was too caught up in my own shit.” He left his chair to pace.

In T’Challa’s opinion Tony had a right to be.

“You needed help, and now I’m offering,” T’Challa said simply. “You’re not the only one who missed something obvious, not even the only one in this situation. We make mistakes, we’re human, but it seems to me that we might benefit from a team approach.” He smiled. “Partners?”

Tony’s lips curved into a wide, though somewhat uncertain, smile. “In every way.”

T’Challa extended his arm on the table, palm up. It was an offer. Tony wavered, then coming to a decision he close the distance between them, and took his hand.

 


	6. Chapter 6

T’Challa sat aside, and let Ochieng and Chaushiku, his chief cyber engineers, explain the contract with his sister’s help. Tony was fine, Busar had checked him over. However, it was impossible to tell how they got along, for T’Challa at least, because while it seemed to go well, things turned weird. Odd, peculiar, strange, those were the kind of words T’Challa could prescribe to the relationship between Tony and his sister for now.

It all started two seconds into their first meeting.

“The thief’s son,” Shuri had said instead of a greeting.

To which Tony had shot back, “Sins of the father, Your Highness. Of course, you’d know _nothing_ about that.”

That had been the moment T’Challa had slapped his palm against his forehead, and it stayed there.

“My brother has a type,” Shuri had said, delighted. “You may call me Shuri.”

And Tony had replied, “Crude and mean? I’m Tony.”

Then things got truly peculiar, because Shuri had announced, “Welcome to Wakanda, older brother.”

“That’s a bit too fast for me, little sister,” Tony had said quickly.

“I’m not talking for my brother, I’m talking for me.”

And then they hugged. But even after that, they still bickered. It was sibling competition, and teasing, from people who had met five minutes before. Simply put: baffling.

For their part, Chaushiku and Ochieng were just glad that someone could follow their rapid fire exchanges about cyber security, and sometimes even took the lead. Their joy was simple and beautiful. It was a point of pride for T’Challa that he had a hand in arranging the meeting.

His sister, however...

“You look confused,” Teela said amusedly.

“Is this normal? Because if it is, I feel like I should have been exposed to it before,” T’Challa complained, scratching at his stubble.

Teela snickered. “It’s good,” she soothed. “I haven’t seen it often, but that’s because it’s rare for people in their position who have at best a lukewarm relationship to form such a bond.”

Eyes narrowed, T’Challa whispered, “Should I be jealous?”

“Are you?” Teela asked wryly.

“A little bit,” T’Challa admitted sheepishly. “I feel like I’m out of step in a way.”

T’Challa had rarely seen Teela smile so widely.

“I think that’s fine, you don’t take your...”

“Partner,” T’Challa quipped with a small smile of its own.

“You don’t take your partner for granted, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Teela said.

“I am aware,” T’Challa acknowledged. “And I’m glad for their instant bond, even if I never understand it... Though I’m not sure I will ever be able to stop wishing it made sense.”

“We’ll see,” Teela appeased.

“We will, won’t we?” T’Challa smiled and wiggled his eyebrow, provoking Teela, who burst into laughter.

Everybody turned to look at them with an affronted expression.

*

T’Challa thought that Tony’s meeting his father went more according to T’Challa’s expectations.

“I heard that you have managed to get into the graces of both my children,” T’Chaka had said.

“Your Majesty says that like it’s hard,” Tony had replied with a roguish grin.

T’Chaka had laughed. “Oh, my boy.” 

Tony had gotten this funny expression somewhere between horror, dismay, amusement and reluctant fondness.

T’Chaka hugged Tony, who was still startled. T’Challa smiled and let them to it. As he moved further into the tribe room unlocking his workstation, he realized that he was feeling hopeful.

*

T’Challa caught Shuri in the kitchen that night.

“Can you, please, arrange a meeting with Doom?” T’Challa asked.

Shuri blinked. “It’s not tomorrow yet. Office hours, T’Challa, abide by them,” she complained as she activated the holopad on her bead. With a sleepy sniff, she asked, “What do you want from it?”

“An alliance against alien threats.”

Blinking rapidly, Shuri looked at her empty tea mug. “Do I need more warm beverages? I think that this dream could be better.”

“If you you’d think it would help,” T’Challa said dryly, and rolled his eyes.

“No, seriously—alien threats?” Shuri’s eyes widened, apparently catching on. “Tony. Are you ser—” T’Challa prepared to jump to Tony’s defense, but she sighed, interrupting herself. “Is that the sort of thing we have to deal with now?! Of course it is.” She sighed again, made a few notes, and asked, “Do you want Tony with you?”

“Yes,” T’Challa confirmed.

“Does Tony know yet?”

“Not yet, I’m going to discuss it with him tonight, or tomorrow.”

Humming, Shuri asked, “Do you want Doom to know that is going to be there?”

“I’ll leave that to you.”

Shuri nodded. “When do you want the meeting?”

“As soon as possible. Preferably in six days, if that doesn’t work, we’ll have to check schedules.”

“You wouldn’t want to make it too easy for me,” Shuri observed wryly.

“I know you can handle it,” T’Challa quipped with a smile.

Shuri made a face, describing with eloquently what she thought about his reply.

But T’Challa heard quick footsteps coming from the direction of the guest bedrooms, and he turned toward the door, frowning. Shuri seeing his unusual behavior, grabbed a knife in a steady grip, waiting patiently. She felt better with a weapon on hand.

Not even two seconds later, Tony burst through the door. “I need processing power.” He looked overwhelmed, perhaps frightened, but in control, and T’Challa suddenly remembered all the things Tony had gone through and survived. Even more so, when Tony said, “I smell stupid about to happen.”

T’Challa glanced at Shuri and saw foreboding written all over her face too. “What happened?” he asked.

Tony didn’t answer, but rapidly signaled a command to his bracelet, and formed an ‘L’ with his fingers to initiate the video function on his bracelet. T’Challa felt unreasonably proud of how fast Tony was picking up Wakandan technology, and he tried to hide it by getting closer. He was sure the unimpressed expression Shuri had adopted was a comment to T’Challa’s actions, but one he ignored, so it was all right. Or less so, because the images Tony was showing them were of death and destruction.

“What are we looking at?” Shuri asked. Her head tilted to the right, then to left. She narrowed her eyes in the vain hope that she’d understand what was going on.  

“They’re called helicrafts, and they are currently crashing.” Shuri glared, and Tony relented, “This is Rogers’ doing, from what I could gather in the last five minutes, and it’s important because I’m being shut out. I built those engines, one phone call and I could have deactivated them, no explosions necessary. I mean, it’s less cool, but it has the advantage of nobody dying.”

“Don’t they think you’re missing?” Teela asked, making Tony jump. He probably hadn’t realized she was in the room.

“No. After what happened to Thor in London, I gave them all a call. They know how to reach me,” Tony answered.

T’Challa, Shuri, and Teela exchanged loaded glances, and said nothing.

“I need to find out what’s going on, because those were SHIELD,” Tony said, not noticing anything wrong. “The bracelet is not going to cut it.”

“Come on,” T’Challa said. “I’ll show you how to use a workstation.” He gestured to it. “By the way, I’m trying to get a meeting with Doom, to discuss an alliance. Do you want to come?” T’Challa unlocked the station with deliberate motions, adding a new user, browsing through the menu, and then locking it back up.

Tony blinked. His fingers automatically copied T’Challa movements. “And you chose _this_ moment to tell me?”

“Perhaps I’m less of a boy scout than you thought?” T’Challa questioned teasingly.

“I’m getting that,” Tony replied drolly.

T’Challa smirked, and returning to the workstation, he explained, “It’s the same principle as the bead, the only difference is manipulating holograms, and you’re surprisingly adept at that. You have your own, I’m guessing?”

“I do—have them and want to come,” Tony said absent-mindedly, mind already focused on gathering the information he needed. “Say ‘hi,’ Jarvis.”

T’Challa raised both eyebrows, not knowing what was going on.

“Good evening, Your Highnesses, Madam,” a male British voice said, startling T’Challa. Luckily, he managed to suppress a physical reaction, and he was more prepared when the voice returned. “I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark’s personal AI. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Good evening, Jarvis. Nice to meet you too,” T’Challa said with some amusement. “Call me T’Challa, please.”

“Good evening, Jarvis,” Shuri greeted, slightly more awake. “You can call me Shuri.”

Teela’s was beyond scares, because she was appeared completely unperturbed. “I am Teela. Good evening.”

“It is my preference to be formal, Your Highnesses, and Madam,” Jarvis pleaded.

“Very well.” T’Challa closed his eyes briefly, and smiled. “Is there a firewall that can actually stop you?”

“I was invited, Your Highness,” Jarvis said, and nicely avoided an answer.

Shuri rolled her eyes. “This better make us more secure.”

“Jarvis has existed for several years, and Tony was aware of us his whole life. It was a matter of time,” T’Challa commented in a low voice, not because he didn’t want Tony to overhear, but T’Challa didn’t want to distract him. “Personally, and for the country, it is better this way.”

Shuri nodded, accepting it easily. “Tomorrow, I’ll get started on the meeting. Good night, brother. Older brother. Teela. Jarvis.” She left the room in a chorus of well wishes.

Seeing that Tony buried himself in work, T’Challa and Teela retired to another corner of the tribe room, where another workstation helped them discuss the latest about Pretorius. It was apparently time to start implementing the next phase of their plan—technological surveillance. They were moving closer to unraveling Pretorius’ plan, but they hit a minor snag. Someone had made a mistake, trusted an undercover journalist, who, luckily, got the story wrong: he reported rumors of South African officials trying to mess with American humanitarian efforts. That was a break, but they needed to lay low for a while as it was a little early to come forth now. These kinds of things happened all they time, and nothing was damaged beyond repair, so T’Challa felt generally encouraged by their progress as a whole. And on that note...

“I’m going too,” T’Challa announced, walking over to Tony, and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Good night everyone. It was nice meeting you, Jarvis. I hope we’ll talk more soon.”

“Night,” Teela chimed in Wakandan.

Jarvis responded, “Certainly. Good night, Your Highness.”

But Tony took T’Challa by surprise saying, “Hold up a second. I’m coming too.”

Two minutes later, they were leaving the room.

“Fury, apparently, died. Rogers is full of angst, battling his old—believed to be dead—buddy, which is something I don’t envy him for, and running around with Romanoff protecting us all from some HYDRA evil plot to kill every person who opposed them.  They conveniently forgot that I could do more than them to protect my own life in this case. Oh, and somewhere in there, Fury’s alive again.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Your technology is awesome, by the way. It cut directly though anything like tissue paper, so I didn’t have to prioritize anything.”

T’Challa winced at the news, but brightened up at the mention of Wakandan tech. “I’m glad we could help.”

“Mmhmm, thank you,” Tony said, as he leaned forward, catching T’Challa’s lips in a kiss. “How do I go about learning Wakandan?”

“Visit more often, I’m sure we could come up with something,” T’Challa quipped mischievously, as he moved his hand down Tony’s back, making Tony snicker. “Is it just me, or is your hair darker?” T’Challa asked, and then leaned closer. “Your eyes seem darker too.” He leaned farther into Tony’s space, but was prone to be distracted by Tony’s lips until Tony spoke.

“It’s not just you.”

T’Challa reared back. “What?”

“I need to look like me when I go back,” Tony said with a shrug. “No more pretty eyes.”

T’Challa laughed. “They may not be the same color, but I’d be sure to like them because they’re yours.”

Tony shook his head, badly suppressing his chuckles, and T’Challa smiled winningly.

“Smooth,” Tony laughed.

T’Challa opened the door to his bedroom, and waved Tony in. “Are you staying this time?”

Barely perceptible, Tony tensed.

“You know it’s fine, right?” T’Challa asked.

“I know you always say that,” Tony answered, fixing T’Challa with his eyes.

“There are problems I can’t handle, but this isn’t among them,” T’Challa said sincerely.

“Lucky me,” Tony whispered.

“Me too.”

Tony placed a single, lingering kiss on T’Challa’s neck, and the time for serious talk was gone. T’Challa wouldn’t push. They would discuss this again, but for now, T’Challa smiled. He felt comfortable, at home, and he wanted to share that with Tony. So it was not the most passionate they have ever been, T’Challa preferring to make it slow and relaxed, but it was surprisingly intense.

Everything remained so clearly embedded in T’Challa’s memory: how Tony’s skin pebbled after T’Challa lips had trailed down Tony’s pectoral; the soft moans Tony uttered; the shine in Tony’s eyes when he were swallowed by his lust; the salty, familiar way Tony smelled; the way Tony looked with his head thrown back in pleasure; the way Tony’s thighs strained against T’Challa’s gentle bites; the way Tony’s fingers felt on his shoulders, pleading silently for release; the way Tony tasted, lingering in T’Challa’s mouth long after Tony was gone.

It was a good night.

*

T’Challa blinked at the image that welcomed him next morning. Shuri and Tony were the center of everyone’s attention, glaring at each other, while bickering grumpily. T’Challa didn’t get why the room, which included Zakisi, was focused on until he saw the clock on the coffee maker counting down the time until a new pot was made. He didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh.

With quick steps, and avoiding the stare contest taking place on the other side of the kitchen, T’Challa started another coffee machine. He wavered for a second, and started a third one. Everybody in the Palace knew that Shuri was addicted to coffee, not that anyone had plans to confront her about it, and it seemed that Tony was the same. Having a little extra around was just in the eventuality that it ended as T’Challa thought—with bruises and curses.

The timer stopped and they were off. Shuri reacted first, kicking forward and sending Tony’s chair flying. Tony, seemingly having expected that, jumped off the out of control chair, and using another one as a foothold to jump over the table. But Shuri was already at the machine, grabbed a mug, put coffee in it, and... And it was stolen by Tony who rapidly took a few steps back, preparing to take a sip. There weren’t enough steps. Shuri lunged, and they both went down.

Meanwhile, the machines next to T’Challa chimed to show the coffee was done. T’Challa started pouring it into mugs, ignoring the ‘oh’s from the spectators when the contested cup smashed on the floor, and sighing at the cut-off curses. He did turn around when Tony made a pained noise. Shuri had bitten him. T’Challa smothered his smile, turned around, and finished pouring, just as Tony started tickling Shuri.

T’Challa put both mugs on the table—at a distance—with a click. “Get it while it’s hot.”

The two stopped, and in an identical movement, which was eerie and T’Challa deeply hoped it wouldn’t happen again, turned to the coffee. He felt the urge to take a step back, and barely resisted it, but he did push the mugs a little forward. And then they attacked.  It was beautiful, and vicious, and hilarious, making T’Challa glad that they were going to have security footage.

The call of the coffee.

Shuri snagged her mug, and immediately started cooing at it, but Tony took a mouthful, and then moved on to T’Challa. Tony swallowed, leaned forward to give T’Challa a dizzying kiss, all the while keeping a solid hold on his coffee. Taking another sip, Tony leaned his head on T’Challa shoulder, nuzzling sleepily. T’Challa wrapped an arm around Tony, using his other to program a tea for himself.

Zakisi got closer, with his usual hesitation. “At least you got a kiss.”

“And a taste of coffee, which is not my favorite,” T’Challa replied, smiling.

Tony mumbled something that didn’t sound too complimentary, and T’Challa summarily ignored him, waiting for his tea.

“I’m glad you found somebody,” Zakisi said in Wakandan, seemingly good-natured, but with an undercurrent of bitterness that T’Challa could easily follow back to Shuri and Zakisi’s relationship. T’Challa standards weren’t a secret.

For his part, T’Challa blinked, taken aback by Zakisi’s newfound courage.

“Zakisi!” Shuri exclaimed. She seemed awake all of a sudden.

“I looked,” T’Challa replied in English, with a smirk.

Tony realized that something was wrong, probably because T’Challa tensed, or perhaps T’Challa’s words gave Tony a hint, but T’Challa felt when Tony lifted his head. T’Challa couldn’t look down to see Tony’s face, too busy fixing Zakisi with his eyes, but T’Challa and Tony must’ve have made a frightening picture if Zakisi’s widened eyes were any clue. Holding on to his cool, Zakisi nodded, and stepped back without another word.

Another chime, and T’Challa’s tea was ready.

Leaning back, Tony watched both Zakisi, whom Shuri hissed a comment at, and T’Challa, who tried to ignore the attention.

“How old are you?” Tony asked.

T’Challa wanted to ask what prompted the question, but he hadn’t decided if he wanted to know or not. However, he did feel a little insulted. He hadn’t got into a fight over coffee.

So T’Challa answered, “Nineteen.” He fiddled with his tea so he wouldn’t burst laughing. “But I’ll be twenty in about two months.”

Tony froze. His eyes widened. He didn’t appear to be breathing.

“Relax.” T’Challa cackled. “I’m thirty-one. Soon to be thirty-two.”

“Fucker,” Tony said. He exhaled, relieved. “You look ageless—at the same time, older and younger than your sister’s fiancé.”

Maybe T’Challa should have asked. “How about you? You look about my age, but I happen to know that Tony Stark’s older,” T’Challa told Tony.

“I am older. Forty, well, still thirty-nine for a bit.”

“When?” A second later, T’Challa clarified, “What is your date of birth?”

“May twenty-ninth.”

T’Challa grinned. “I was born on the twenty-sixth. Eight years difference, almost exactly to the day.”

“Eight hard-lived years. Does that bother you?”

“No,” T’Challa said. “Is it something that bothers you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony rolled his eyes, and went to take another drink, only to make a face at the empty cup. “If you were twenty, we’d have another discussion. But you’re big enough to make that decision for yourself, and I’m not one to shoot myself in the leg.”

T’Challa poured him another drink. “I’m happy with us, Tony.”

“Give me that coffee before my teeth rot and fall off,” Tony said grumpily. He leaned his head on T’Challa chest. “I’m happy with us too, Gorgeous.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

T’Challa was reading about some new agricultural application to preexisting research. He was sitting on the mats in the tribe room, back to back with Tony who was practicing his sign language. While Tony had said he could access the bead with his mind, it took time, and knowing how to do it the common way was useful. Nareema was to the right, meditating, and Shuri was researching Doom, outlining the plan on how to approach him. She spent the morning wading through villainous speeches told in third person.

An alarm suddenly started ringing. There were several problems with that. First and foremost, they didn’t _have_ any alarms in the tribe room.

“What is going on?” T’Challa asked in the tone that of a person fully expecting an answer.

“Stupid happened,” Tony replied, moving toward a workstation.

Nareema rolled to her feet, looking alert, and Shuri got closer.

“Rogers and Romanoff are releasing all the SHIELD files,” Tony said. He sounded off. “I am definitely against it.” His tone turned bleak. “But I’m not known for making the right decisions.” 

“What the—” Shuri interrupted herself. “It’s irresponsible of Rogers to make that decision on his own.”

“He’s not doing it alone,” Tony maintained.

T’Challa catching on what Shuri was doing decided to approach the argument from another side, since they didn’t know anything concrete about the people involved. They only had theories. So he said, “SHIELD is an intelligence agency. It would’ve been impossible for them to read all the files in less than a day.”

“The information the bad guys already have,” Tony argued.

Shuri was prepared. “But how do they know that it is information the whole world is ready to see?”

“HYDRA is an organization like any other,” Nareema said hesitantly. She didn’t know if she was expected to give her opinion, but she had one. When all Tony did was to turn and look at her attentively, she continued, “It has a lot of information, some of which it uses for propaganda and to destabilize opponents. Just because they have a certain piece of information, it doesn’t mean that it’s ever going to be brought to light. But when you’re releasing all the information indiscriminately to the world you can be sure that someone in the billions of people out there is going to use it.”

“And leaving the uncertainty aside, this would be a good way to find out more about the direction of the organization’s plans by whichever information is chosen and where it’s coming from,” Shuri suggested.

Nareema added, “While at the same time, giving the people it’s damaging to some time to prepare.”

“They can’t possibly make an informed decision until they went through them all,” T’Challa asserted. “If you want my vote, I say it’s irresponsible.”

“I second that,” Shuri said immediately.

Tony’s eyes settled on Nareema, questioning.

“I agree,” Nareema said, shrugging.

Tony looked at the three of them, and nodded. “I’m going to need Chaushiku and Ochieng.”

Nareema looked at T’Challa for confirmation, and when he gave it, she took a step back activating her comm bead.

“This is going to be weird,” Tony warned. “Jay, catch me.” His eyes turned that white-blue light. T’Challa watched closer and realized he saw tiny lines of code scrolling through his eyes, burning the same off-blue color.

There was a moment when Shuri and T’Challa looked at each other, uncertain on how to help. Then Shuri went to the work station to log off, probably in case Tony needed it, and T’Challa made his way to Tony. It seemed like a smart decision when Tony wavered, and T’Challa was in the position to catch him, but T’Challa couldn’t take the credit. He had simply wanted to be closer to Tony.

Chaushiku opened the door with a bang, but Ochieng went through it.

“What do you need us to do?” Chaushiku asked the room. When no one answered, she hesitated. “Sir?”

Ochieng looked around in confusion.

“I need space,” Tony said haltingly.

Ochieng checked with his twin sister, and said, “That is manageable. I assume you mean virtual space.”

They both made aborted motions toward the work stations, but it was clear to everybody in the room that they should first find out what was going on.

Tony’s eyes returned to normal. “I connected onto the network, and used Jarvis to get me to the source of the leak. It’s easy for me to make a net to catch all the information, but I need a place to store it. Jarvis’ memory is his own, and I like to remember how to tie my shoes.”

Ochieng nodded. “You need storage space.”

“A lot?” Chaushiku asked. “For Wakanda, I mean.”

“Kind of. There’s more than half a century of intelligence,” Tony confirmed.

Both Ochieng, and Chaushiku, activated their engineering beads to access their admin accounts that allowed them to delegate the space, and make necessary adjustments.

Tony smiled at them, and his eyes turned white-blue again. Outside of comments from the twins that were meant for the other, tense silence settled on the room. When T’Challa was about to signal Shuri that it was going to take a while, Chaushiku and Ochieng smiled eerily.

“What’s going on?” T’Challa asked.

“Tony’s attacking the source,” Chaushiku said.

“Deleting the original material,” Ochieng added.

“And having Jarvis plant a virus while he does,” Chaushiku almost cackled.

“It’s beautiful,” Ochieng said delightedly.

T’Challa shook his head, smile playing on his lips. That was Tony. Then Tony started slipping to one side, and T’Challa had other problems.

“Go to sleep,” T’Challa said as soon as Tony opened his eyes. He had disconnected, and his eyes were now darker, but also more complex. Gone with the amber, and in its place there was a kaleidoscope of gold, and orange, and brown, and black. T’Challa found himself echoing Ochieng—beautiful.

Tony made a grumpy face at being moved. He was striking with darker eyes. T’Challa would say that he didn’t notice it, but then he’d be lying, and he tried to be honest with himself. So, he did his best to ignore Tony’s stare, and moved Tony where the pillows were stacked.

“We should probably get decrypting.” T’Challa dropped a kiss on Tony’s forehead, and turned to the room. “When can that start?”

Ochieng shrugged. “In five minutes.”

“We just have to feed the data through a program, and streamline the process,” Chaushiku volunteered.

“We don’t need to be present for it once that’s done,” Ochieng said.

“Can you do it now?” T’Challa asked. When he received two nods, he continued, “Do it. And thank you.”

*

Tony’s agitated sleep drew everybody’s attention. He had slept about three hours when the nightmares started. T’Challa winced. It was a normal part of being Wakandan, warriors get PTSD, and then they get care. No one would think less of Tony, but he wasn’t used to talking about it, and T’Challa should have remembered that and acted accordingly. It seemed that being at home meant he automatically entered the tribe mentality.

Breathing in, T’Challa concentrated on the immediate problem: how to wake up Tony. T’Challa needed to avoid getting Tony scared, and getting himself hurt. Tony would regret it when he woke up, and T’Challa wanted to show Tony how they could manage the nightmares.

Shuri sat up, ready to go to Tony, when T’Challa eyes stopped at the piano.

It had been some time. He made up his mind when Tony made an quiet, distressed sound, and got up, signaling to Shuri that he was going to handle it. She sat back down, watching him with curious eyes. He didn’t need to see her expression once he got to the piano—her sudden intake if air was sufficient to tell the multitude of emotions she might have felt. T’Challa had not touched the instrument since their mother had left, close to two years now.

Did he want to play again? Tony could be helped by other means. T’Challa flexed his fingers. Yes, he wanted to do it—for Tony, but also for himself.

T’Challa watched his fingers on the keys for a few moments, and began. He chose a lullaby. It was a favorite of his mother’s, and he played with and for her a great many times. The melody flowed in the tribe room, making everybody turn and listen. It seemed to be working. Of course, T’Challa heard every mistake and he fudged his way through every forgotten part, but he persevered, mostly by letting his fingers play by muscle memory. It didn’t flow as smoothly as it could have. However, a song was a song.

When T’Challa finished the lullaby, he glanced at Tony, before starting a new one. To T’Challa’s delight, he had succeeded, and Tony was awake. It would’ve been even better if T’Challa managed to smooth the nightmare into a peaceful dream, but that only rarely happened, especially in the beginning.

“Do you play?” T’Challa asked over the sound of the piano.

“Do you?” Tony shot back wryly, rising from his seat.

T’Challa laughed, messing up the song even more.

“Since you’re doing so poorly, I might as well join you to make us completely suck. Never do something halfway,” Tony announced, as he wiggled on the piano seat. “How did you learn Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata?”

“It was my mother’s—Ramonda’s—favorite,” T’Challa said.

Tony smiled, and pressed some keys, seemingly at random. Bold, harsh notes echoed in the tribe room. It was a dare, and T’Challa was helpless against it. He abandoned the song, and did his best to answer Tony, choosing more soothing ones.

“My grandmother, Nanali—the Black Panther of her time—was outside the country for three years in the 1950s. She was supposed to visit more countries, but when she went to a concert in Italy she fell in love with the sound of this interesting instrument, the piano. She remained in Italy for the duration of her stay,” T’Challa told Tony. “Nanali was Panther Tribe by choice. She changed tribes when she came of age; she was raised in Nightingale Tribe. That was where she developed her love for music, but she was different in almost all the other ways, including stubbornness and determination.” He smiled at the memories. “So she became friends with the pianist, and before he knew it, he was being shipped to Wakanda along with his piano. By all accounts, he never regretted it.”

“I can empathize with his bemusement,” Tony said and laughed, as he shimmied to the music.

Chuckling, T’Challa continued, “My mother, learned later in life. She preferred the classics next to our own compositions. I’ve had the opportunity to learn early, but since I did so at my mother’s side, I learned to appreciate the same composers.”

“My mother wanted me to learn,” Tony said with a smile. “It was her act of rebellion against the hard sciences Starks were famous for. To me, it was fun, and I got to spend time with her.”

And Tony seemed to keep that joy. It was clear in the notes he produced, a playfulness that was as endearing, as it was catching. T’Challa was having fun.

“Are you alright?” T’Challa asked quietly.

Tony hesitated, and answered, “I’m getting there.”

“Good,” T’Challa said, and hit the next note with his elbow.

Behind Tony, T’Chaka had tears in his eyes.

“That’s a declaration of war, Gorgeous,” Tony replied. He seemed thrilled as he began to play in earnest.

T’Challa nodded to his father heart going out to him, but otherwise left him to his feelings. T’Chaka didn’t look like he’d appreciate T’Challa stopping. Shuri was on it, anyway, embracing their father tightly. Meanwhile, T’Challa made use of every single trick he knew to keep pace with Tony.

It was a good day.

*

“Teela,” T’Challa called.

Last night, Tony had stayed. He had had another nightmare, but T’Challa had made use of his even rustier singing skills to silently hum the lullaby he had played earlier in the day. It worked even better. Tony had opened his eyes, looked around until his eyes landed on T’Challa. Blinking, Tony had made a confused sound, probably at seeing T’Challa standing by the bed, but eventually understanding seemed to drawn. T’Challa was respectfully out of striking range, and Tony had reacted as T’Challa hoped he would: with a smile, and an extended hand. T’Challa had gotten back in the bed, and had been pleasantly surprised when Tony cuddled up to him.

The great night T’Challa had had, helped him keep his cool in the face of the veritable mountain of information SHIELD had somehow got on Wakanda. There were even several access points into Wakanda. That was... disquieting. As soon as Teela came close enough, he spread the files with the entrances to Wakanda around the workstation for her perusal. And waited.

A crack appeared in Teela’s normally implacable demeanor, and her face went through a rapid sequence of emotions, too many and too fast to be able to make them out. “How—” She swallowed, and gestured to a file. “That one is closed-off now because we built labs that back into it, but we’ll check to see if the tunnel can be filled. Our security has expanded and now covers those two blind spots.” She stopped, looking lost, and uncertain. There six more ways. She took a breath, and regained her footing. “The other entrances will be found by tonight, guarded, and eliminated as weak points by the end of a month. We’ll make sweeps a regular, if unscheduled occurrence, and we’ll be significantly more careful. I apologize, sir, and I will work harder.”

“We’re all at fault here, Teela,” T’Challa said soothingly.

They got arrogant, if they were reacting like that. It wasn’t uncommon for countries’ borders to have weaknesses, the important part was to keep vigilant. That wasn’t on Teela, it was on all of them.

Teela nodded, but said, “If it’s everyone’s fault then it’s mine too.” She smiled.

T’Challa prepared to answer, when Tony’s bleak voice filtered through the din of the tribe room, “I know that street.”

In less than two seconds everyone was watching Tony. It was natural response from the tribe, they heard one among them in distress and they reacted. T’Challa hadn’t quite figured out a way to explain to Tony what being in a tribe meant and time had just run out. All T’Challa could do was the same as everybody else in the tribe room—hope for the best and be there for Tony.

On the screen T’Challa saw the man they had identified as James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, Rogers’ friend, attack a car. He murdered the man, and was circling the car to reach the woman. T’Challa didn’t know who the woman was, but her repeated cries of ‘Howard,’ made T’Challa swallow. It couldn’t be...

But it was, because once Barnes’ hand was around the woman’s throat, Tony whispered, “Not my mom.”

Tony couldn’t change the events that happened years before, and they all watched as Barnes killed Maria Stark. Like as he had killed Howard Stark. It didn’t seem like Barnes even knew what he was doing, but that was beside the point at the moment. Tony had just watched his parents being murdered. How does one even recover from that?

T’Challa exchanged glances with his sister, and they both reached for one of Tony’s wrist at the same time. Their father and Teela got each an upper arm, and Ochieng and Chaushiku got a shoulder. Tony startled and looked around, as everybody moved forward. T’Challa jumped a bit at Nareema touching his forearm, he hadn’t heard her behind him, and N’Iraj took Shuri’s forearm. Slowly, everyone in the room was connected, and Tony was struck silent. From that moment on, Tony was a part of the tribe, he just didn’t know it.

“What are we doing?” Tony asked, visibly bewildered.

“We are being there for you,” T’Challa answered.

Tony blinked. “That’s—”

“Come to the mats,” Ochieng said, interrupting gently.

Chaushiku nodded. “Then you can tell us exactly how this is.”

“Come,” Shuri beckoned.

T’Chaka softened it with an invitation, “Sit with us for a while.”

“Will you?” T’Challa asked.

“I will,” Tony said, still astonished. He flashed an uncertain smile. 

“Remind me to tell you about tribes,” T’Challa said absent-mindedly, and he curved his body on Tony’s right side.

Shuri gave a mighty eye roll as she took the other side. Teela smiled, and T’Chaka shook his head. And one by one the sat with Tony, with one of their own.

“I think I got it anyway,” Tony said quietly, as he put his head over T’Challa’s heart. “It’s odd, no doubt about it, but it’s family. Isn’t it? The real kind.”

“Yes, it is,” T’Challa agreed.

“And you’re part of ours,” Shuri said.

“The Doras included,” Teela added.

Tony’s head snapped up to glare at T’Challa who simply shrugged, and said, “Welcome to the Panther Tribe.”

There were a few stifled snickers, which turned into chuckles when Tony grumbled and plopped back down.

“We are here for you, Tony,” T’Challa murmured. “It’s alright, you can rely on us. Let us take some of that weight.”

Tony wanted to deny, T’Challa could tell, but when Tony spoke he said something unexpected, “Only if you let me take some too, when the time comes.”

T’Challa smiled. “Deal.” He ran a hand through Tony’s hair, and down his back.

*

Two days later, Shuri had let them know that while she had managed to get a meeting with Doom, the timing didn’t work. So now, T’Challa and Tony, chose ten dates, and Doom would get back to them. Doom hadn’t said no, as far T’Challa was concerned, things were already on the up and up.

“Tony,” Okoye called. “You might want to see this.”

Tony had the same smile on his face that he kept getting when someone addressed him warmly. It was a small, shy, and awed thing that fluttered across Tony’s face, rare and all the more beautiful for it. T’Challa called the smile: Tony’s ‘I belong’ expression.

“What’s going on?” Tony asked, getting closer, T’Challa joining him.

“C-SPAN.” Okoye gestured to the workstation where a redhead was being interrogated by a whole lot of people. “Romanoff and Rogers are facing a Senate Hearing, but only Romanoff was able to attend. Rogers is in the hospital, but he’s in good shape.”

Tony nodded.

 _“_ _We have no information at this time about who is in possession of the data,_ _”_ Romanoff was saying.

An older gentleman, Senator McKnight, replied, _“_ _What is being done to find it?_ _”_

 _“_ _We are cooperating with the authorities,_ _”_ Romanoff said, with the air of somebody who had had to repeat herself more than once. _“_ _And we are, of course, investigating_ —”

A tall, no-nonsense looking woman, Senator Adebasa interrupted, _“_ _You_ _’_ _ve mentioned that, and I personally reached the conclusion that you have no idea to start. Would that be true?_ _”_

 _“_ _We are following multiple avenues,_ _”_ Romanoff answered.

Adebasa didn’t look impressed, and Tony snorted.

 _“_ _Here we are hoping that Mr. Stark saved our skin again,_ _”_ Senator Young, a little, frail old woman, said. _“_ _Do you have any way of communicating with him?_ _”_

 _“_ _Yes, Senator Young,_ _”_ Romanoff responded bemusedly.

 _“_ _Did you check with him?_ _”_ Young insisted.

Romanoff blinked, then her expression went blank as she said, _“_ _We haven_ _’_ _t been in touch with Mr. Stark yet._ _”_

 _“_ _Why not?_ _”_ Adebasa questioned. _“_ _He_ _’_ _s the only Avenger who actually has the studies, the background, and the experience for this kind of thing. How were you investigating without him?_ _”_

 _“_ _As you know, he has been missing for some time,_ _”_ Romanoff tried.

 _“_ _Do you or do you not have a way to contact him?_ _”_ Adebasa asked.

 _“_ _Mr. Stark has been through a lot, and we believed it was for the best to leave him alone,_ _”_ Romanoff said.

 _“_ _Mr. Stark has the abilities and the resources to capture all the information, and to plant malware in its place. He also had the motive to do it,_ _”_ Young said. _“_ _What reason do you have for not even asking him if he might_ _’_ _ve done it?_ _”_

 _“_ _As I said, Mr. Stark seemed troubled,_ _”_ Romanoff maintained. _“_ _We didn_ _’_ _t want to add to it._ _”_

 _“_ _You mentioned. So, if Mr. Stark did do it, he did from his vacation, cut off from anyone else,_ _”_ Adebasa said wryly. _“_ _Is there any way that_ we _could contact him?_ _”_

After a moment, Romanoff agreed, _“_ _I will provide the contact information._ _”_

 _“_ _Now, the facts in this matter are that whomever has the data isn_ _’_ _t in defiance of any law, because at the moment they got the information, it had already been released. The deleting of SHIELD servers is another matter. Good luck proving that it was done by the same person, and it wasn_ _’_ _t some sort of mishandling of a system by people who aren_ _’_ _t qualified to use it,_ _”_ McKnight said. _“_ _The point of this hearing was Mr. Rogers and you deciding to make several million classified documents public. I understand you were under some pressure, but why didn_ _’_ _t you consider a committee consisting of, at least, one member outside your area of influence?_ _”_

It went like that for another hour, when Romanoff deciding she had had enough, flounced out of there. Teela stared incredulously at the holoscreen, eyes narrowed. She blinked, and shook her head in disgust. 

Tony was called later on by the NSA, asking for answers. He didn’t have any for them: he had seen the information, but so had others, including a terrorist organization. They needed to be on guard, in case fires started. He hung up with a shake of his head.

Teela drew his attention. “Tony, watch this.”

Senator Adebasa was giving an interview on CNN, _“_ _I think the issue today has been made clear. Some of the Avengers seem to think that because they are needed, they are above the law. But the rest of the Avengers are willing to contradict that. There_ are _those among them who have shown their propensity to think before they act, and it is my strong opinion that Mr. Rogers and Ms. Romanoff should consider their position very carefully. After all, only one Avenger sacrificed himself for New York._ _”_

*

“Today, we are working outside,” T’Challa announced as he prodded Tony forward.

Tony turned his—now—dark head, and raised an eyebrow.

“I want to take you to a concert, but I’d like to know if you are going to like it,” T’Challa said. “So. You are going to get a preview. Bakuj is playing some old favorites at the marimba in the Sphere. We can work, talk, have a warm drink, and listen to music. If you like it, the orchestra’s playing tonight.”

Tony smirked. “This is you sneakily trying to make want to come back?”

“Was that sneaky?”

“I’d love to come back,” Tony said, and leaned forward to kiss T’Challa’s cheek. “But what I’d _adore_ is to visit your version of a live music coffee shop.”

T’Challa never thought of it that way. He narrowed his eyes. “Did you have to put it like that?”

“You walked straight into that one, Gorgeous,” Tony chuckled.

T’Challa rolled his eyes. “I need a nickname for you to even the playing field.”

“Booba the Teddy Bear,” Tony said impulsively. Immediately, his eyes widened.

T’Challa, grin growing, looked at Tony. A beat to look at each other, and... They both burst out laughing.

“Booba!” T’Challa said delightedly, and kissed Tony—on the nose.

Tony sighed, and smiled fondly. “Where am I going?”

“Right this way,” T’Challa said, and gestured in the right direction. “And you’re always welcome in this country. I’d never keep you from them, or keep them from you.” He smiled. “My sister would make attempts on my life, for one. The second reason is that I’m a decent person. However, outside of that, I’d like it if I were the reason you visited.”

“My decent, _human_ , knight in shiny, shiny vibranium armor,” Tony said dramatically. “Thank you.” His smile was small and all the more precious for it. “I may have to take you up on it when the public opinion in the good US of A turns on me again.”

That saddened T’Challa terribly, but he also knew that it wasn’t anything new for Tony, and T’Challa couldn’t protect Tony from things that already happened. As Wakanda, and its citizens, were finding out, sometimes all one could do was resolve to be better. As such, T’Challa smiled, and said, “We do have faster internet connection than South Africa.”

“You have a point,” Tony said laughing. “That reminds me. I was thinking of doing some brainstorming at a global level.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“It’s not clear yet,” Tony admitted. “But something like the Stark Expo, only for ideas that have to with global defense. Oh, wait, Stark Expo was a—”

T’Challa interrupted. “I know. It was an interesting concept.”

“If it hadn’t imploded.”

“If you weren’t hunted.”

“But I make _such_ a good prey,” Tony said, making T’Challa laugh derisively—Tony was no more prey than T’Challa himself was. Tony raised his eyebrows, winked, and came back to his idea. “They could make teams with people from other countries, they could keep it in country, or they could be alone. The ideas wouldn’t need to be taken further than planning, maybe models. And I want to open it for all ages. Maybe make a contest or something.”

Tony’s phone rang, cutting off T’Challa’s reply. It was the phone and not the bead. Only a few people had that number, but T’Challa was sure who it was by Tony’s expression. Tony picked up, gestured to T’Challa to stay where he was.

T’Challa could faintly hear Rogers ask, _“_ _Was it you, Tony?_ _”_

And Tony answered with, “I saw my parents get killed by your friend. Were you ever going to tell me?”

T’Challa frowned. Rogers might not know. However, his continued silence was making T’Challa doubt the legitimacy of that claim.

 _“_ _I wasn_ _’_ _t sure,_ _”_ Rogers began. _“_ _I didn_ _’_ _t want to hur_ _—”_

“Cut the bullshit, Rogers,” Tony said harshly.

 _“_ _No._ _”_ Rogers swallowed.  _“_ _I wasn_ _’_ _t going to tell._ _”_

“Then we’re done talking,” Tony replied, and hang up.

T’Challa opened his arms, making Tony chuckle, and leaned in for a brief hug.

“Who is going to judge the children’s contest?” T’Challa asked.

“I am. The grown-up reason would be because I’m a very progressive thinker with a lot of time on my hands who has the ability to bring into reality their ideas, but the _actual_ reason is that I want to read all the wacky theories,” Tony answered, with a bright smile. “Everyone’s a winner, especially me.”

T’Challa laughed. “Would you be willing to share?”

“I might be persuaded,” Tony confessed, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

T’Challa was up to the challenge.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

T’Challa felt that the level of exasperation, and awkwardness, in the room was reaching uncharted levels. Granted, it was a lot more peaceful than he had thought, but _this_ he had not expected. Absolutely no one was impressed with each other. Tony was going to strain something rolling his eyes, Doom was starting to talk about himself in the first person, and T’Challa was feeling light-headed from all the sighing.

After a month and a half of negotiation, they were finally meeting, and it was decidedly not what T’Challa was expecting.

Doom was looking as beleaguered as a metal suit could. “What do you want from Doom?”

“An alliance,” Tony repeated for the seventh time.

“But not as villains,” Doom said.

Tony, who seemed to have reached the conclusion that small words gave better results, answered, “No.”

Doom nodded. “And not as heroes.”

“No.” Tony kept the judgment off his face, and from his voice. Or maybe he wasn’t feeling any.

“To protect Earth,” Doom finished.

“Yes,” Tony confirmed.

“Why?” Doom questioned, yet again.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Because you live here?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for me to ally myself to whomever is attacking Earth?”

“That is your choice,” T’Challa accepted, hoping to strive off another eye roll from Tony. “And that is one of the reasons we’re asking. We would much rather fight with us, then against us.”

“So you would trust me,” Doom noted. “Why?”

“Trust is a strong word,” Tony mumbled. “You are intelligent, powerful, and nobody can take that away from you.”

“Doom is aware,” Doom approved.

T’Challa sighed. “Then why risk being a soldier, when you are a general?”

“Your assumption is flawed, Chieftain T’Challa,” Doom said. “I would be the last man standing.”

T’Challa didn’t like the reminder that Doom knew a lot more about Wakanda then T’Challa previously thought, but he tried to ignore that, and said, “You would have to take orders before that happens. Would you do that?”

Doom shrugged. “Doom would.”

“If you had to, you mean,” Tony said cuttingly. “So I guess our question is: why don’t you join our alliance so that you won’t have to?”

“I doubt that someone who could take on all of us, would have any problems besting you alone,” T’Challa noted. “No matter how slyly you behave.”

“Deception is hardly for heroes,” Doom pointed out. “Ah.” He leaned back, and chuckled raspy. “You are not the golden standard of morality either, are you, Mr. Stark? And the Chieftain is only a hero if it suits him.” Doom nodded. “Yes, I see.”

Finally.

“However,” Doom said. 

T’Challa counted back from 999,999.

“Why don’t you give Doom something to sweeten the deal?”

Tony sighed, and T’Challa rolled his eyes.

Doom made an affronted sound. “I hear you are in possession of some information,” he told Tony. “HYDRA would rather take advantage of the information, than profit from it. Doom wants to know what SHIELD had on Latveria.”

“Vicky, we aren’t those kind of friends,” Tony said dryly. “You don’t get benefits.”

Even though T’Challa couldn’t see Doom’s face, he could tell that Doom was terminally unimpressed. What T’Challa couldn’t foresee, was Doom turning towards T’Challa, staring at him, and asking, “What do you see in Sparky?”

Tony was so offended that he choked. “Sparky?!”

Doom rounded on him. “Vicky?!”

“It’s your name!” Tony gestured widely.

“It’s your talent!” Doom defended himself.

T’Challa sighed, rolled his eyes, and was close to shouting, ‘T’Challa wants you to _settle down_.’

But then Tony’s lips twitched, and he said, “There are ways in Latveria.”

“And?” Doom asked drolly.

“That’s it.” Tony shrugged. “That’s all I’m going to say. Don’t pretend it’s nothing.” He stroked his goatee. It was strikingly villainous. “Take it or leave it.”

Doom took a deep breath. “I’ll take it.” He lifted his hand to his chin, but probably realized that he couldn’t rise to Tony’s level of careless malevolence as Doom didn’t have the goatee. For that reason, his gratitude came out a little grumpily, “Doom appreciates it.”

Tony and T’Challa exchanged relieved glances.

“Let us talk details,” T’Challa suggested.

That time, Tony and Doom exchanged long suffering glances, and T’Challa was the affronted one.

It didn’t go swimmingly, but then again none of them were known for his aquatic skills. No, it was excruciating. They went over the details until they were blue in the face. However, they managed to nail down some important parts such as an offer of help in case of an invasion, no offer of help in any other case, and, of course, that there was an alliance.

There were still not nearly done, and lawyers on both sides needed to take a look at it.

“Next meeting. When?” Tony asked tiredly.

“Isn’t ‘where’ a better question?” Doom cocked his head. “Should we meet in New York?”

T’Challa smiled, a bit patronizingly. “Seeing as none of us are there, I do not see why.”

Doom’s head snapped up. Now, T’Challa might be wrong, but Doom seemed to be pouting. “How are you enjoying Wakanda, Stark?”

“I’m staying in South Africa,” Tony said.

At the same time, T’Challa answered, “He seems to like it.”

Tony rolled his eyes, yet again, and covered his face with his palm. “Gorgeous,” he whispered.

“Booba,” T’Challa replied fondly.

“Want to try that again?” Doom asked with a hint of humor in his tone.

“No,” Tony said. “C’mon, it’s none of your business.”

Doom shrugged. “I tried.” His smirk was audible. “I have to ask. Why aren’t you in the US? They love you there.”

“Visas,” Tony offered.

“You _need_ to be in South Africa.” Doom had a creaky laugh, but, at least, someone was having fun.

Tony smirked. “I do like Wakanda.”

Changing the subject, Doom asked, “In a month?”

T’Challa would be in Zurich then, so closer to Latveria than ordinary, but he is going to be busy. “A month and a half.”

“A month and a half works for me,” Tony said. T’Challa remembered Tony had a reunion with the Avengers to take out the HYDRA bases. Seemed a little ambitious, but that wasn’t T’Challa’s decision.

“I can work with that time period,” Doom said. “In Latveria.”

They both nodded.

Doom started pensively in the distance. “Why ‘Booba?’ Does it mean something in Wakandan?”

 


	9. Chapter 9

T’Challa finished a meeting, and, as he was leaving the conference room, he checked his phone. He had one message from his sister, and one from Tony. His sister was asking about a detail concerning the upcoming—in two weeks’ time—meeting with Doom. Tony’s message, though, was from his old number, when T’Challa knew him as Eduardo Ferro.

**Eduardo Ferro: Call me as soon as you get this.**

It was sent ten minutes before.

T’Challa frowned. He dodged a diplomat heading for him, press smile in place. It was common enough to talk a little more informally at the conclusion of tenser negotiations, secure the other’s good will, maybe obtain some advantage, or just networking, but, in this like in most situations, it was T’Challa’s benevolence that they wanted to get, and he didn’t have time for it. T’Challa ducked into a random room, leaving Teela at the door to explain his sudden absence, and he placed a call to Tony. Something was wrong.

“Tony?” T’Challa asked as soon as it connected. “Is there something wrong?”

T’Challa heard a large exhale, and nothing more. So he insisted, “Tony? Are you alright?”

Finally, Tony murmured, _“_ _I am now._ _”_ He swallowed, and took a deep breath. _“_ _Thanks for calling. I needed to know that you_ _’_ _re okay. But I can_ _’_ _t talk now. I_ _’_ _m fine, though. We_ _’_ _re going to... Later, okay? Thank you._ _”_ And he hung up.

T’Challa looked at the phone worriedly. “Teela,” he called.

Teela entered promptly.

“How fast can we be in New York?” T’Challa asked.

“We have finished all we need to do here, the rest of the time was reserved for soothing any ruffled feathers,” Teela said after checking his calendar on her Stark Tablet.

The tablet, and the phones, already worked better than other tech on the market, but since Jarvis came in the picture they worked beautifully. Almost as good as the beads, though Tony’s tech had the advantage of not needing vibranium to work. It was debatable if Jarvis’ presence was a good thing or not.

But here, now, it was definitely an advantage, because Jarvis chimed from the phone, “Your Highness, Sir has given you a Level 4 clearance. You are thus allowed into the Avengers Tower.”

Teela looked at the phone suspiciously. It was practically a written invitation from the discreet Jarvis. She said, “We can be on our way as soon as you’re done.”

“Give me an hour,” T’Challa announced.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Jarvis said quietly.

T’Challa was disturbed by Jarvis’ tone. “Make that half an hour.” He nodded to Teela, passed by Nareema and Okoye, who were standing guard at the door, and facing everyone, said, “An emergency has arisen. It would mean a lot to me if there was a way for me to attend to it without offending any of you, or your country.”

Half an hour of people telling him there was no problem, T’Challa could finally leave.

*

T’Challa left the Eagle on the Avengers Tower, and headed for the roof entrance. It should have been simple; he should have made it down to Tony with no problem. However, he had overlooked the ‘Avengers’ side of Avengers Tower. T’Challa was halfway to the elevator when Rogers, along with a brunette—trained, armed—got out of it, and moved to cut him off.

“Good evening,” T’Challa greeted politely. “I am Prince T’Challa of Wakanda, and these are the Dora Milaje.”

Rogers extended his hand for a shake. “Steve Rogers.” He gestured to the brunette who looked a little wide eyed. “This is Maria Hill. What can we do for you, Your Highness?”

“I am here to see Tony,” T’Challa answered politely, even though it wasn’t in his nature to explain himself.

Avengers Tower was the temporary home of Rogers, and that, along with T’Challa not wanting to make more problems for Tony, made it an acceptable question. But Teela had a blank expression, a good sign that she didn’t agree, and T’Challa had to give it to her, it was Tony’s tower, and they were Tony’s guests. As long as T’Challa didn’t enter their private space they, and Rogers specifically, shouldn’t take issue with T’Challa’s presence.

But they did, and for Tony, T’Challa would make exceptions.

“I’m sorry, I can’t allow that,” Rogers said smiling politely.

Teela’s eyebrow rose.

Rogers apparently didn’t know when to quit, because he continued, “Now, if you could please make an appointment, and he’ll see you then.”

Silence ruled for a few moments.

Then Teela said in a dispassionate voice, “Move or be moved.”

Hill put a hand on her gun, and Rogers, though taken aback probably by their not backing down as expected, said, “Jarvis, guns.”

Turrets emerged from hidden hatches in the rooftop, aimed at T’Challa, and the Doras.

T’Challa didn’t blink. “Jarvis.” His voice held command he wasn’t sure he had, but he trusted Tony to somehow uphold his authority.

And Tony didn’t disappoint. Jarvis redirected the turrets to aim at Rogers, and Hill. The look on Rogers’ face when the weapons began their rotation made the incident not a total loss, but it also didn’t change the fact that T’Challa was in a hurry.

However, T’Challa couldn’t resist a parting shot. “When I need your permission to see my partner, I will let you know.” He smiled.

Rogers and Hill glanced at each other, with Rogers giving slow, shocked blinks, and Hill’s eyes reaching a worrying width. Teela walked first, staring Rogers’ down, and making him twist to the side to avoid a collision. T’Challa followed, flanked by Nareema and Okoye.

Jarvis took them down to the lab. Nareema and Okoye remained at the elevator, while Teela turned at the door, to watch for potential intruders. T’Challa watched Tony talking to a short, curly haired man—Dr. Banner, probably—for a few seconds. He seemed calm, but T’Challa could see something off in the way Tony argued a little too fervently, in the intense way he concentrated, in the lost way he looked when Banner’s attention was somewhere else. It was like he was scared or determined, like he had his back against the wall, and weary like he was hunted.

“Jarvis, can you announce my presence, please?” T’Challa asked, not taking his eyes off Tony.

Jarvis probably did, because Tony immediately and violently turned around. He frowned at T’Challa for a few seconds, confused, and broke into a large smile. Then Tony said something, and the door opened.

“Hello, Gorgeous,” Tony said delightedly, coming closer.

“Hello, Booba,” T’Challa said, and captured one of Tony’s happily gesturing hands, and planted a kiss on his inner wrist.

“Smooth,” Tony quipped, leaning forward for a quick peck on the lips. “Come. Have you met Dr. Bruce Banner? My favorite Avenger.” He gestured toward the curly haired man, who was standing to the side, slightly hunched. “Dr. Banner, Prince T’Challa of Wakanda. My partner.”

“It’s a pleasure,” T’Challa said, walking forward, and extending his arm with a smile.

Banner grasped his hand, and shook. “The...the pleasure is mine.”

T’Challa stepped back, looping an arm around Tony, and felt him trembling. Tony wouldn’t meet T’Challa’s eyes. T’Challa decided he couldn’t wait anymore, so he said, “I do not mean to be rude, but may I have a minute with Tony?”

Banner startled. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll just... goooo... away. Nice to meet you.” He disappeared faster than T’Challa thought possible.

“What happened?” T’Challa asked quietly.

Tony looked like he had no idea what T’Challa was talking about. It was faked—a bluff. T’Challa would lie if he said he wasn’t disappointed, but he was willing to wait Tony out. This had to be important for Tony, T’Challa knew it, but he also suspected that was why Tony would try to hide it, based on previous experiences. So, even though T’Challa’s heart was breaking when he thought about the number of occasions needed for Tony to consolidate this kind of response, T’Challa got ready to listen, expression open.

However, Tony surprised him. His eyes met T’Challa’s, his chin was raised, and he breathed in deeply. “You were all dead.” His voice was haunted, but he still said it. At that moment, it struck T’Challa how much bravery the human heart contained.

And all T’Challa could do was open his arms in invitation. But it was empty. He felt inadequate. What was an embrace next to the sheer amount of dread in Tony’s voice and behavior?

Until Tony took T’Challa up on it, and T’Challa had Tony safely in his arms, tucked away from all the things that could upset him. T’Challa felt stronger, more capable, and it was simply because Tony was leaning on him, hiding his face in T’Challa’s neck. It was a false sensation, T’Challa knew that—he wasn’t any better than five seconds ago, but being the person Tony trusted close to him made all the difference. T’Challa _swore_ that he would earn that trust, and that he would do anything in his power to help Tony.

“Tony, what happened?” T’Challa whispered in Tony’s ear.

“I’m not sure,” Tony mumbled. “I had a vision when I touched Loki’s glow stick.” He gestured to a metal box. “It was so real. We were in space. I saw everybody dead. The Avengers, the Doras, and... you. I was the only one left alive.” His arms tightened around T’Challa’s waist.

T’Challa frowned. “Which Doras?”

“Teela, Okoye, and Nareema,” Tony mumbled into T’Challa’s chest.

“There are several things you should probably know about our Doras,” T’Challa said hesitantly. “And the first would be: there are 3,500 Doras. And they usually work in teams of seven, even the Doras that accompany me. If I feel like there’s any reason for alarm, I’m going to take the full contingent.”

Tony lifted his head. “They could have been killed.” The hope in his expression was painful.

“The Doras’ job, and purpose, and pride, is to defend the Black Panther.” T’Challa let out a breath. “If four of them lost their lives, others would take their place.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying that there isn’t a way for things to end up the way you saw it, I’m saying that the odds of you only seeing things that are familiar to you at this point in time are... small. Are the details the same? Rogers’ uniform, Romanoff’s hair length, or Okoye’s tattoos? She has a new one; she doesn’t look you were used to. And what about the rest of us? Was there a scar on any of us, or anything different? Were you?”

Tony stared blankly at the wall, thinking hard, before shaking his head. “No.”

“It seems to me it was less like a warning, and more like a fear, but I don’t discount it being both. However, it was clearly not a vision, and we already started working on the space issue. We’re doing the best we can as far as securing the planet,” T’Challa assured. “And we have new ideas that we implement each day.”

Tony took a deep breath, and nodded, visibly trying to work past the dread. “Speaking of ideas, I may have another one.” He shook his head, looking at the box suspiciously.

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” T’Challa suggested.

“No. Thor wants to take it back.” Tony took a deep breath. “It’s a ‘you snooze’ situation.” He stepped back, and grabbed a portable device. “I was analyzing the scepter.”

A hologram of... something organic, like a brain, but not, appeared swathed in blue.

“And this is Jarvis,” Tony said, and next to brain another hologram, this time golden, appeared.

The golden hologram was smaller, but not less beautiful. While the first hologram looked almost exactly like a living thing, Jarvis was obviously another creature. A new, intricate, orderly form of life.

“They are different creatures,” T’Challa said.

Tony was startled. “Yes.” He gestured to the blue hologram. “But I think that this one could sustain itself.”

“Perhaps,” T’Challa allowed. “However, what do you know about its alliance? What about their temper?”

Tony’s head snapped to the scepter, eyes narrowed, and T’Challa figured it wasn’t anything good.

“Tony, perhaps the problem is that you haven’t met Jarvis.” T’Challa raised his hand, asking for time to explain when Tony glared. “You created Jarvis. And you raised him. You’re like a parent to him. But if you met him, knowing both of you like I did, you’d have noticed the similarities between you two. Your ideals, your protectiveness, you sense of humor, your goodness, your curiosity... You passed all of it to him. He is going to keep it all, no matter what happens to you or him. There is a possibility that those characteristics might become corrupted, or that his priorities might change, but he has learned them. They belong to him now.”

“So, what you are saying...”

“Is that you did a wonderful job with Jarvis... And that the stone might’ve had its own set of experiences. They cannot be discounted.”

“Especially if they can sustain themselves,” Tony said apprehensively.

T’Challa nodded. “Think of it more like a captured soldier, and less like a more mobile Jarvis.”

“Jarvis is mobile,” Tony noted absent-mindedly. “He can close up shop and move on the internet anytime.”

“I did not know that.”

Tony interrupted his deep thoughts to wink at T’Challa. “He’s that smart,” Tony said fondly. “The problem that he has is when he’s outside the coverage area. For example, a huge portable memory would be good.”

“We can work on that,” T’Challa assured. “Perhaps not me, but the Panther Tribe’s Engineering Department would be ecstatic to work on a project so interesting. You know that Wakandan technology is far superior to anything else in the world, and the Panther Tribe is one of the best tribes in this area. Worst case scenario, they might inspire you.”

Tony exhaled, and nodded twice. “I’m letting fear rule me,” he said, and T’Challa realized Tony referring to what T’Challa told him when they first spoke about the existence of a general.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Tony answered, and met T’Challa’s eyes. “I guess I am. It’s a rookie mistake, huh?” Tony sighed. “This place. What it means. It’s worse here. I try to play it cool, but while I try to bend myself backward to _pretend_ that I’m okay, it takes too much of effort, and I make mistakes.”

T’Challa cursed himself for not realizing the importance of the location sooner. “I caught it,” he managed, scrambling for something that comforted Tony.

“Yeah.” Tony took a deep breath, and gave a bitter smile. “I need a babysitter.”

T’Challa shook his head. “What you need is a partner, and you’ve got one. Nobody can be perfect all the time.” When Tony opened his mouth, T’Challa temporized, “I can’t be perfect all time. There are things I miss, things I can’t do, but that doesn’t make me less qualified. I trust that the people around me to see something I don’t.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Tony asked, laughing derisively. “If Romanoff gave me a glass of transparent liquid, and called it water, that’s the last thing I’d trust it to be. Clint runs everything by her, especially since Loki. Thor isn’t here enough to get to know him, much less trust him. Bruce doesn’t trust himself, so he’d be likely to refuse, or to get someone else to check his work. And if I green-light Rogers to watch over me, he’d turn down my every suggestion, and question my every move. I can’t live like that.”

“But you’ve found people who do trust you.” T’Challa swallowed. “People that you could trust.” All of a sudden, he was consumed by uncertainty. “I am not saying you should, I am just...”

Tony silenced T’Challa by circling T’Challa’s wrist, and tugging gently.

“You’re right.” Tony closed his eyes, and opened them slowly. “You’ve been there for me, Jiminy.”

T’Challa smiled amusedly. “It hasn’t been a one-way street. We... _I_ owe you.” At Tony’s confused look, T’Challa hinted, “Oily.”

“Pretorius,” Tony said with raised eyebrows.

T’Challa nodded gravely.

“There was an Obie-like air about him.” Tony shrugged, and smirked. His eyes gleamed mischievously. “I bought _everything_ he expressed an interest in. It’s been a while since I made someone turn that shade of purple.”

“How much money did you spend?” T’Challa asked, laughing.

“Does it matter?” Tony’s smirk widened.

“We found out that he is a racist, and he is specifically against Wakanda,” T’Challa said, and smiled at Tony shock. “We are very thankful, and ready to reimburse you.”

“Don’t need it,” Tony refused. “It was my pleasure.”

Understanding that insisting would be pointless, T’Challa nodded, and changed the subject. “I’m your partner, Booba. Treat me like one.”

“I am,” Tony said easily. “All I have left to do is be conscious of it.”

T’Challa was taken aback. That was something he hadn’t considered: that Tony trusted him. He had never thought about it from that perspective. It made sense. After all, T’Challa had to work for it, sure, but Tony had a remarkably small number of walls up. Perhaps T’Challa had to thank Tony’s sabbatical for it, or T’Challa’s status as a stranger—though Tony didn’t seem the type to trust people he didn’t know—or there were other variables that T’Challa wasn’t even considering, but T’Challa was aware that it didn’t always go so smoothly. So he thanked the Panther God, was glad they were compatible, and came back to the present where he struggled to come up with a solution to Tony’s latest problem.

“Perhaps it would be better if you moved for a while,” T’Challa suggested.

“Where? To California? Sure. Where I nearly drowned. Which of course reminded me of being tortured. How didn’t _I_ think of that?” Tony offered T’Challa what T’Challa presumed it was supposed to be a smile, but it was too toothy to manage it.

“Afghanistan,” T’Challa said horrified. “AIM.”

T’Challa had no idea what had happened. He was alarmed. His hands trembled minutely, and his jaw clenched. He hadn’t intended to remind Tony of anything unpleasant, definitely not of his torture. The situation had the potential to get away from him. But his mind was blank on how to fix it.

“Stop freaking out,” Tony said with an amused grin. He put his hand lightly on T’Challa’s jaw, and T’Challa leaned into it. “You have an interesting dilemma going on, unstoppable force versus immovable healing factor. _But_. You can get out of this without a headache, and with your teeth intact. I’m not mad. I’m... disturbed.” Tony had the ghost of a smile on his face. “I’m running out of houses.”

“No, you’re not,” T’Challa answered automatically, brain coming online fast. “Even if, by some chance, you didn’t have the money to build or buy another—anywhere in the world—and the house in South Africa disappeared, and Wakanda wouldn’t be willing to put you up, and the world wouldn’t want anything to do with you, all the evidence points to you building one yourself with whatever materials you do find.”

There was a spot of silence after T’Challa impassioned declaration.

“Wakanda would be willing to take me in?” Tony asked with a sly grin.

“Yes.” T’Challa looked straight at Tony. “Yes, and not only because of me. You’re Tribe.”

Tony’s grin changed into a small, shy smile. It was his ‘I belong’ expression, and T’Challa’s heart warmed to see it. Tony rolled his eyes, and said, “You have the satisfied face down to a science, Garfield.”

T’Challa made a mock-offended noise.

And Tony nodded to the box. “I better get rid of that before it messes with our minds.”

T’Challa felt himself freeze. “It can do that?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

T’Challa leaned on the bar, his attention drifting to where Rogers’ was talking to Wilson, one level up, but not outside of T’Challa’s hearing range.

Tony had offered Thor the scepter post-haste, and after significant confusion on Thor’s part, Thor had taken it back to Asgard. When Thor had come back, befuddlement still in place, Tony had kept his promise, and had had a party. It had everything a celebration should have—good music, great food, and even better company. Everything seemed on the up and up… if only T’Challa didn’t keep hearing uncomplimentary words about Tony. Nobody was gossiping as much as commenting wryly, like an old joke, about things that were already considered to be true.

Everybody was entitled to their opinion.

However, they were in Tony’s home, eating his food, drinking his beverages, listening to his music, enjoying his hospitality. Nobody held them there under threat, and it showed a despicable sort of attitude to talk such careless dismissal of Tony when he supported the Avengers financially, technologically and politically. Under these conditions, T’Challa thought that opinions turned into blatant disrespect. He briefly thought about saying something to Tony, but remembering his mother’s reaction, T’Challa hesitated.

“Your world is crazy,” Wilson was saying, humorous awe could be heard clearly in his voice.

Rogers studied the room disdainfully. “Be it ever so humble.”

T’Challa’s jaw clenched.

“That did not sound approving,” Teela intervened. Bold, calm, outspoken Teela to the rescue and just as T’Challa had reached his fill. “In fact, it sounded patronizing of your surroundings, and the one who has provided them.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Rogers said. His voice sounded painfully polite, but his expression was simply painful. “We were having a private conversation.”

Teela didn’t blink. “At a party?” One of her brows rose. “Your tone can construed as expressing disapproval toward someone I consider a friend. I hope the least you can do, while abusing his hospitality, is to give someone the chance to defend him.”

“Ma’am, all due respect, but I won’t keep my options silent,” Rogers replied stubbornly.

Teela was not impressed. “Said the bully.”

While Rogers’ reaction was an exercise in impotent fury, Wilson exclaimed, “Hey now! There’s no need for that.”

“Do you know what is beyond unnecessary?” Teela asked. She waited a beat, and then gave the answer, “For a soldier to belittle the person who is responsible for his equipment in the field. _That_ is downright stupid.”

Wilson looked taken aback, while Rogers, frowning hard, said, “Ma’am, what I think is not any of your business.”

“Treat Tony with respect, or get out of his house and, thus, my business,” Teela said, and smirked threateningly.

Satisfied with the way Teela was handling the situation, T’Challa’s attention was pulled in another direction. Tony had mentioned his name in the same sentence as Potts, and he supposed that... yes, Tony was letting them know of his change in relationship. T’Challa listened for a few seconds, and he realized that Thor and Tony were comparing partners. 

“The Lady Jane is being considered for the Nobel Prize,” Thor was saying.

Tony didn’t hesitate to brag. “T’Challa competently leads the richest and the most socially, technologically, and medically advanced country on the planet at only thirty-two years old.” He sounded so proud of T’Challa’s accomplishments.

T’Challa couldn’t do that to him. To draw attention to the team inequality now, would mean distracting Tony with another bad memory. He had done that enough for today. And, as his mother had shown him, it could be humiliating for Tony in ways that T’Challa couldn’t even imagine.

“Tony’s new boy toy?” Barton asked as he sidled up to T’Challa.

It took T’Challa several moments to realize that Barton was talking to him.

“Tony’s,” T’Challa agreed.

“I never knew Tony to be possessive,” Barton said jokingly. “You must be expensive.”

“Are you talking about the same person?” T’Challa smiled when Barton laughed. “And I can assure you, you cannot afford me.”

“You got me there,” Barton chuckled. “I didn’t think that Tony could either.” His eyes shined with amusement. Drolly, Barton confessed, “Your Highness, I know more about that Wakanda than I probably should.”

T’Challa inclined his head in acquiesce. That was most likely true, but Wakanda’s prized secrets were still safe if Barton kept referring to T’Challa as a monarch instead of a chieftain. Not in hurry to reveal that to Barton, T’Challa said, “For Tony, it’s free of charge.”

Barton burst into laughter. Between guffaws he managed, “It’s love.”

T’Challa blinked. “It is,” he realized.

With an unidentifiable noise, Barton stopped suddenly, and stared at T’Challa.

“What is?” Tony asked, having made his way to them.

Barton eyes widened, his eyebrows raised, and he hurriedly took several steps back.

“Love,” T’Challa answered easily. “What I feel for you.”

Tony’s ‘I belong’ expression made a comeback, and T’Challa didn’t need a verbal response. He got it anyway. T’Challa was smiling at Tony, happy that they understood each other, when Tony said, “Love.” He paused just as T’Challa had, and smiled mischievously. “I think I can get behind giving that name to what I feel for you.”

Barton meeped and disappeared.

“Dear Mr. Ferro, we have come a long way,” T’Challa quipped good-humoredly. Then, as if turning on a switch, his amusement disappeared. He felt as if he was dishonest, or, at least, hiding something from Tony.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, his expression told T’Challa that Tony hadn’t missed T’Challa’s hesitation.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” T’Challa asked. 

Tony nodded. “There’s a conference room.”

Signaling Teela where he was going, T’Challa tried to come up with a plan of some sort, containing everything he wanted to say in as pretty a package as he could make it.

“Make it fast,” Tony asked as soon as the door closed behind him. “No point in drawing it out.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that—”

“Yeah? Why? There’s an obstacle you can’t go over. Maybe something wrong with me.” Tony’s hand fluttered showing his aggravation. “You’re breaking up with me.”

T’Challa was taken aback. “I—What?” he spluttered. What had happened? “I... I—What?” He blinked fast, and repeated nonsensically, “What?!”

“Stop, stop.” Tony lifted his arms palms forward. “Just stop.” He was—badly—trying to suppress his laughter. “I was wrong.” A snicker escaped him, but he courageously went on, “You have convinced me that you aren’t trying to break it off.” He tried to keep a straight face. “You also have the most hilarious rebooting sequence I have ever seen.” He gave up and laughed so hard he needed to sit down.

T’Challa let out a breath, relived. “It’s not… You’re right, I’m not trying to break up with you,” he said grumpily. But then he thought about what he was going to say, and the nerves were back. “I noticed something a while ago, but since the last time I confronted someone on this type of thing it didn’t go so well.”

“Your mother.” Tony frowned. “I don’t see the connection.”

“I’m not starting where I should.” T’Challa swallowed, and started anew. “These months I noticed another type of power: the power of status, of people’s opinion on the person’s character. It’s the type of power that shifts, but that is so important for interpersonal relationships.”

Tony nodded, listening attentively.

“That power is inherently subjective. And I...” T’Challa took a deep breath. “I don’t want to interfere in your relationship with your colleagues. No, that’s wrong. I _do_ want to interfere because I don’t think what is happening is right, I simply do not want you to think that I expect anything from you. However you will choose to act is entirely you choice, and I will accept it.”

Tony made an impatient gesture.

“We... _I_ believe that while the public sees you all as more or less equal, affording you a more favorable opinion in last months,” T’Challa explained. “That being said, I think that within the team, Rogers has more of a pull. It attracts people like Romanoff, but to some degree it also attracts Banner, Thor, Barton, and even you. He is widely considered as the man everybody relies on to handle the ethical side of things.” He shook his head. “I can find no reason as to why, but this type of power isn’t logical. The misuse of it, however, is area where logic must apply.”

“Now, this I’ve got to hear,” Tony said, crossing his arms.

“It seems to me that he uses that power to turn others against you,” T’Challa declared. “There was an overwhelming amount of overheard remarks from your teammates that put you in a bad light, and they certainly aren’t based on logic. Little comments mostly, maybe joke or two, that address your flaws in a way that goes past humorous teasing. They’re simply mean. I accept the possibility that there might be a culture clash, but even if that was true, I distinctly noticed a lack of warmth in Rogers’ and Romanoff’s ‘teasing’—if you want to call it that—towards you that wasn’t present with other colleagues.” 

“So it wasn’t just me,” Tony said, sighing. “I’ve got a massive ego, so it was the most probable cause.”

“Of course you have to have a massive ego,” T’Challa noted. Tony’s head snapped up, and T’Challa shrugged. “You have in order to keep pace, Booba.”

Chuckling, Tony accused, “You’re full of shit, Gorgeous.”

T’Challa grinned widely in response.

“I’m not sure it is Rogers who started it,” Tony said. “He and I, we started on the wrong foot. My father, who he always sees when he looks at me, was a hero and a friend to him. Howard could do no wrong in his eyes. And I resented my father because while he was cold towards me, he always had a word of praise for Rogers. My father’s dead now and Rogers ended up being the person I compare with. We never found our way to anything resembling a functioning relationship; we just both tabled our differences in the field.”

T’Challa shook his head. “That is a major liability.”

“Yes, it is,” Tony accepted. “It worked so far, but the balance is so delicate that it wouldn’t take much to knock the entire by-play off its axis.”

No matter how much T’Challa wanted to say something to comfort Tony, T’Challa couldn’t, because he would have never approved of a team with such big interpersonal issues. He would have made them train it out, let them solve it themselves, tried to mediate, and, finally, if no solution arose, he would have assigned them to different teams. Some people didn’t get along. It was T’Challa’s—Teela’s, actually, and other military and police chiefs jobs, but it came around to T’Challa—job, and he had to make the decision, no matter the potential usefulness of that team. T’Challa knew it was impossible to build on something unstable.

“I think Romanoff is playing a bigger part than you considered,” Tony shared. “She observed me, when I was dying, and from that a less than favorable report was born. One where Iron Man was recommended, but I wasn’t.”

“You _are_ Iron Man,” T’Challa said startled. It was something that T’Challa understood at such a deep level, that it seemed impossible that someone would discount it. “It’s not dependent on the suit. I saw Iron Man, and I have yet to see the armor.”

Tony smiled proudly.

“Her, I didn’t manage to understand,” Tony asserted, coming back to the point. “She’s a completely different person from day to day.” He studied T’Challa. “What would you do if this were your team? Is that something you even do, or should I go find Teela and ask her?”

“You should ask Teela,” T’Challa agreed. “Both because she has more experience in this area, and for a second opinion. You could ask Shuri, too. She handles the Doras training. As for me, yes, sometimes it falls to me to make those decisions.” He half shrugged. “In the case of interpersonal problems, I’d try to offer them enough time to solve the problems: alone, with the team, or with outside mediation. But if the problem persists, I’d break the team.”

Tony nodded somberly. “I guess this whole team thing needs a lot more than good thoughts and supervillains.”

“It’s usually something that works organically,” T’Challa said. “Sooner or later, something would have had happened that would have brought the team together, or would have pushed you to take different paths. It would have probably been traumatic. We use the experts to avoid those types of situations.”

“But that’s not why you brought it to my attention.”

“No.”

Tony took a breath. He gestured between them. “Do we have that status power inequality?”

“I… don’t think so,” T’Challa said before he could really think about, but even after he did, his answer stayed the same. “You managed to make yourself known and liked by others as yourself in Wakanda before it could occur to me that it could be a problem. Shuri, my father, Teela, Okoye, Nareema, Chaushiku and Ochieng are an example. They love you, and me, but most importantly, they see us both as we are. As everything we are. Shuri wouldn’t hesitate to tell me when she thinks I did something wrong, just like she wouldn’t be stringy on praising an accomplishment, and, from what I saw, she’s the same with you. I don’t see it as becoming a problem in the future. But we can be vigilant and talk about it. There is no reason not to be.”

Tony rounded the table, gazing up at him. “Thanks… for our little chat.” He smiled, a tired thing but there. “I love you,” he whispered. “But more than that, I trust you.”

That was a kick in the stomach that T’Challa was definitely not expecting. It was joyful, sure, but so abrupt that it took his breath away. As a result, T’Challa voice was a breathless, when he told Tony, “I trust you, Tony. And I love you.”

Tony’s small, shy, awed smile bloomed, and T’Challa responded with a wide grin.

It was a good evening.

*

T’Challa looked around. It wasn’t a normal dream. Firstly, because he had never dreamed of Doom. T’Challa wished the comfortable tradition would have continued, but nobody was asking him. And secondly because this time it seemed to have a purpose.

Tony, Doom, and T’Challa were seated at a large round table. There were obviously chairs missing, which gave it the odd aspect of a mouth missing most of its teeth. They each sat on an ornate throne—tehno-organic wood for T’Challa, metal and electricity for Doom, and constantly shifting nanobots for Tony. Also, they were all confused.

“Gorgeous, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Tony announced, with the customary humor that hid his trepidation.

“I’m not a Cairn Terrier, Booba,” T’Challa replied.

Tony tried to leave his seat, but neither the chair, nor the table would budge. “While I love to wear red heels,” he said, keeping up the by-play, and staring tapping at the throne.

“That is something Doom never wanted to know, Stark,” Doom supplied. A spell he had cast at the table backfired, and he barely ducked.

“Well, I am intrigued,” a new voice said.

“Loki!” Tony accused. “Good. I was worried that it wasn’t a nightmare. I feel better now, go on.”

Loki appeared opposite Tony, in a frozen golden throne. “Stark, you recognize my voice. How delightful.”

“How can I forget it?” Tony asked wryly. “Yours are still the best villainous speeches. I especially like the Hulk one, interrupted as it was. Or maybe I like the interruption. I played that one for a _long_ time.”

Doom gave his creaky laugh, while Loki smirked, eyes fixed on Tony.

 “Chieftain T’Challa,” Loki said unexpectedly, maintaining eye contact with Tony. “I congratulate you for showing Stark the right path.” His green eyes glowed.

T’Challa didn’t know how to answer that, or if he should, so he said nothing.

“I congratulate you three for the alliance,” Loki continued, apparently not needing an answer.

“What’s going on, Elphaba?” Tony stopped his tapping.

Loki continued to watch at Tony, and said, “Pay attention.”

Suddenly, all the places at the table were filled: Thor, a woman with white hair, a huge blue man on a throne of ice, a beautiful lady elf, Xavier, a dwarf holding a wicked dagger, and another figure on fire. There were others, standing a bit behind, but still around the table: a man with a goatee, another with a brown leather jacket, Rogers... They must be the captains, which made sense since the ones sitting at the table could be considered the generals. That did not bode well.

“As someone of you have deduced, someone is indeed coming,” Loki started.

Thor paled, looking as if he had seen a ghost. “Loki?!”

The white haired woman ignored him, and nodded. “Thanos.”

“The Mad Titan?!” Thor blinked, probably overwhelmed. “Loki? What is going on!” It was supposed to be a question, but it was more of an accusation.

“As such,” Loki went on, disregarding everyone, “I gathered you all here today to warn you of this upcoming threat. Do with that as you will.”

And T’Challa was awake.

From next to T’Challa, Tony asked bemusedly, “Did what I think happened just happen?”

T’Challa turned to look at him.

“Yup,” Tony confirmed. “I thought so.”

“Sir, Thor is asking permission to enter,” Jarvis announced.

“Oh brother,” Tony said, and got out of bed. “Is he wearing clothes?”

“Boxers, Sir,” Jarvis chimed.

Looking down at his same state of undress, Tony shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to overdress.” He winked at T’Challa, and said to Jarvis, “Let him, Jay.”

T’Challa smiled, and followed him out of the bedroom.

“My apologies!” Thor thundered.

“It’s okay, big guy,” Tony declared. “It’s not every day that you find out that your back-from-the-dead brother is, again, back from the dead.”

Both T’Challa and Thor squinted at Tony.

“Just every three years or so,” Tony added with a smirk.

“You think me foolish for believing Loki was dead,” Thor said, oddly at peace with describing his failings.

“Your brother is wily,” Tony replied, no trace of apology in his expression.

“Aye,” Thor answered, still bizarrely at ease. “That he is.” He smiled slightly. “‘Tis true, then? Did we have the same dream?”

“You had a golden fancy chair, T’Challa had the high-tech branches, and we were warned about an impending invasion... That dream?” Tony smiled at Thor’s vigorous nodding. “Yes, we had the same dream.”

“That is wonderful—” Thor was interrupted by the sound of an alarm, but he persisted, yelling, _“_ _news!_ _”_

“Jay!” Tony shouted.

The alarm stopped.

“What’s going on?” Tony asked.

“Mr. Rogers called for an Avengers emergency meeting,” Jarvis declared.

Tony made a face, and went to poke Thor back in the elevator. “We won’t be long,” Tony said, and waved back to T’Challa.

The doors closed.

“Jarvis, can I have a visual, please?” T’Challa asked.

The glass table suddenly lit up with an image.

 _“_ _Naw, Tony,_ _”_ Barton complained as soon as he saw them come in. _“_ _You_ _’_ _re not supposed to be ripped._ _”_

 _“_ _Fuck you, Barton,_ _”_ Tony responded absent-mindedly. _“_ _I lift engines, not petri dishes._ _”_ He gestured toward Banner. _“_ _He lifts petri dishes, and I_ _’_ _m never going to get to his level of shredded._ _”_

Banner chuckled. _“_ _Somehow, I still feel the need to cover my eyes._ _”_

Tony wiggled his eyebrows Banner’s way, to Rogers’ aggravation.

 _“_ _Is this any way to come to a meeting?_ _”_ Rogers asked testily.

 _“_ _Thor has his Sailor Moon transforming hammer, and I could be naked under the suit,_ _”_ Tony said easily.

 _“_ _We need to talk about a dream I had,_ _”_ Rogers began, but that was all he got out.

 _“_ _That we all had._ _”_ Tony smiled humorlessly. _“_ _About a warning I already issued._ _”_

Rogers shook his head minutely. _“_ _Yes._ _”_

 _“_ _I_ _’_ _m on it,_ _”_ Tony said, and turned towards the elevator.

 _“_ _Without the team, Tony?_ _”_ Romanoff asked.

Tony stopped. He cocked his head, and he slowly turned around. _“_ _I didn_ _’_ _t realize that team needed me to account for every one of my activities._ _”_

 _“_ _No,_ _”_ Banner said warningly, but not directed at Tony. _“_ _Of course not. Right?_ _”_ He looked at Romanoff.

 _“_ _Tony, you_ _’_ _ve made questionable decisions in the past,_ _”_ Rogers said.

Tony raised an eyebrow. _“_ _So have all of us._ _”_

 _“_ _He has a point, Steve,_ _”_ Barton said quietly.

But Rogers wasn’t ready to let it go. _“_ _Thor?_ _”_ he asked the silent member of their group.

Thor was watching Tony. There was something about the way Thor evaluated Tony, about the way he weighed him, that made T’Challa wonder. Was it possible for Thor to have there in the first half of the dream? Because he seemed to know.

 _“_ _Do not borrow trouble, Friend Steve,_ _”_ Thor finally said. _“_ _Friend Tony says he is handling it, so for the time being, do not let your judgment be clouded by this. Be sure that when you will be called to duty, you are ready to fight._ _”_

Rogers looked surprised, but nodded. _“_ _Of course._ _”_

 _“_ _There, I_ _’_ _m going. I have a very handsome man waiting for me,_ _”_ Tony announced. _“_ _Wouldn_ _’_ _t want him to get cold._ _”_ He smirked.

 _“_ _He_ is _handsome,_ _”_ Thor volunteered.

 _“_ _Thank you, Thor,_ _”_ Tony said, as he stepped into the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


	11. Chapter 11

“This doesn’t happen nearly as often in Wakanda,” T’Challa complained.

They had first gotten interrupted by Thor asking about his brother, then again by Thor activating the Rainbow Bridge in order to go to Asgard, and ten seconds ago by Teela.

“Not my problem,” Tony mumbled.

T’Challa pinched Tony’s side in retaliation, but when Tony didn’t react beyond a mumbled ‘mmm, massage,’ T’Challa gave up and rolled out of bed.

“Teela,” T’Challa greeted, shutting the door behind him. At the sight of her expression, T’Challa humor drained. “What do we have?”

“We think that Pretorius might have illegally detained people. We don’t know who,” Teela said. There was a frown on her face that spoke of her being disturbed. “But we do know where: in a secured building.” She looked around.

“Swipe the image, or the folder, in range of any table, madam,” Jarvis chimed.

Teela listened to Jarvis, and there were suddenly a lot of photos and videos of a v-shaped, three story house. There were a lot of armed men going in and out, the entrance appeared to have some sort of guard stationed that controlled the door, and bars on visible the inside of the windows. Food and water transports were coming in, and they could be for the men, but there would be no reason to have the building barred from the inside then. This proved the existence of people, as well as their status as detainees. A detailed report on visible guard movement, placement of the cameras and sensors, and the codes to the locked doors came up next.

“We have not been inside as we’re not yet ready to negate all of Pretorius’ contingencies,” Teela explained. “However, it could be the thing that’s going to make them irrelevant once this comes out, presuming that his reputation will be shot.”

“But you can’t say that with any certainty,” T’Challa summarized. “We can’t be sure about the consequences of a fact, when we don’t know what that fact is. That’s the dilemma, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“We need to go in there.”

Teela nodded, but said, “We can’t use our tech to get past the security because it’s a dead giveaway, so we’ll have to do it without any help.” She let out a breath. “It’ll be less safe, but we can’t afford anything else.”

“Can’t we?”

Teela narrowed her eyes.

“We don’t have access only to our tech anymore,” T’Challa said.

“Tony.”

“And if his tech is too easily traced back to him, I’m sure he knows people.”

“I knew I liked him for a reason,” Teela claimed. She thought that statement through, and corrected herself, “For many reasons, I mean. I like him for many reasons, _and_ another one.” She made a face. “I just like him. It’s weird.”

T’Challa chuckled, put a hand on her shoulder, and called for Tony.

“Now I know this is important,” Tony said, having practically teleported into the room. “Or else.”

The speed with which Tony had come into the trib—living room told more about Tony’s evaluation of the situation than the joke, so T’Challa smiled and explained that they needed Tony’s help with untraceable tech.

“Sure I could find you something, maybe build it myself since I have experience with binary systems,” Tony offered. “But I have to know more about it.”

It was fine with T’Challa, and he would have told Tony the entire story immediately. However, with the issue being delicate for Wakanda in a whole new way, and Teela’s censoring presence, T’Challa felt it was worth to think about it. He wanted to consider all the variables, and possible consequences before he said something to Tony that couldn’t be taken back.

So T’Challa considered who the information would be coming from, what sort of experience he had, what sort of interest, and what sort of consequences T’Challa could expect inside and outside Wakanda. Tony cleared the first two, with no problem. His qualifications were incontestable. He checked the third one as it was more likely for his interest to align with T’Challa, who Tony had already presented as his partner and together they entered an alliance with Doom. Therefore, T’Challa had enough arguments to repel cries from inside the country, and for the outside, neither he nor Tony opened themselves up to any liabilities.

T’Challa had decided. He told Tony the story. What he didn’t expect was for Teela to give a minute nod in support. T’Challa didn’t know where the trust came from, but he was ready to go with it this time as his own analysis showed that Tony could be relied on to give a useful opinion.

Tony, to T’Challa’s great relief, narrowed his eyes. He didn’t ask T’Challa if he was certain he wanted to share this with Tony, respecting T’Challa choice. _And_ Tony didn’t enquire about T’Challa’s hesitation, which meant Tony understood T’Challa’s thought process, and his reasons for doing it. If Tony resented it, T’Challa didn’t know, and he needed to find out.

Now, however, was not the time.

“I may have a different idea. What do you know about the _Snakes_?” Tony asked.

“They are South Africa’s Directorate for Priority Crime Investigation,” Teela answer promptly. “They deal mainly with corruption.”

“Right,” Tony accepted Teela’s response, and typed something. A picture of a somber man appeared. “Captain Lonwabo Zwane, recipient of the Military Merit Medal, all around tough bastard that retired and went into a police career. He’s not the head of the Snakes’ Cape Town branch—it’s some guy, Colonel Leroy Fourier, but he’s busy playing golf, and Zwane actually runs the branch.”

Teela narrowed her eyes. “It’s lucky that you found out about him,” she said suspiciously.

There was the distrust.

“I research the main players in law enforcement wherever I go,” Tony said, tapping one fist into his other open palm. “It’s hard finding any information about Wakanda, by the way. All I found out was that the high ranking diplomats prefer women bodyguards, and that the Black Panther exists.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it’s a leftover habit from when I used to sell weapons. Saved my life a couple of times.”

It occurred to T’Challa, for the nth time, that there was so much he still had to discover about Tony.

“I like Zwane,” Tony said easily. “He has made a respectable and distinguished career by mainly by being competent and keeping his head down. Reminds me of Rhodey.” He grinned, there and gone. “But there are always grudges, and he has one for Pretorius. Some sort of scandal with Zwane’s sister, that Pretorius covered up.”

Ever the perfectionist, Teela’s expression went blank, but Tony snapped his fingers in her direction. She glared at him, and he lifted his eyebrows. Tony looked less than impressed, as he said, “You’ll try this method the next time. Plus, this was an internet search. I’m not even sure if you’d think it was credible.”

“But you have confirmed that Zwane has a grudge,” Teela said, borderline accusing.

Tony shrugged. “Because I know how they deal with those in the military—avoidance. He won’t say anything about Pretorius until Zwane has dead to rights. It’s led to some awkward interviews.”

“You are suggesting we provide that proof,” Teela said, adapting fast to the situation at hand. “It’s not enough. We’ll need to provide a reason for searching the building, because an anonymous tip can be challenged, _and_ have a way to connect him to it.”  She frowned, but it melted quickly into a small smirk. “Which is where you come in.”

T’Challa wasn’t following. Until he was. Tony was going undercover.

*

They met Zwane at one of Tony’s restaurants three days later.

Zwane didn’t look too delighted that T’Challa was there. That was fine. It showed that he understood well the way the wind was shifting, both in the political climate of the country, which was beginning to be more and more anti-Wakandan, and in the more global sense, where the Prince of Wakanda was seen with Tony Stark. All in all, it didn’t bode well for Zwane, but he was willing to hear them out.

It evidently got better. Zwane eyes gleamed with possibilities after they had finished talking, but he visibly reigned himself in. He slowly took their plan apart.

“All of it is lost if Mr. Stark doesn’t manage to execute his part of plan,” Zwane said calmly.

Tony smirked. “The last time I had a similar role, I ended up buying the bar so I could kick the guy out for my finale. I like my chances.”

Zwane blinked once slower, but other than that he had no reaction. He simply nodded. His control was much better than T’Challa’s, who smiled widely.

“Can you tell us what Pretorius covered?” Tony asked directly.

“I do not understand,” Zwane said.

“The scandal with your sister,” Tony explained, his attention on Zwane.

Zwane clenched his jaw, probably realizing that as the reason for Tony choosing him. To Zwane’s credit, he didn’t let the knowledge ruin what he had accomplished, but he did ask, “Is it relevant?”

“It might be,” Tony answered.

Suddenly, T’Challa, and he guessed Zwane, understood Tony had a strategy to approach tomorrow’s meeting. It was odd to know that he had some sort of plan, when he mostly seemed to fly by the seat of his pants. However, when T’Challa let himself consider it, the idea that Tony mostly knew what he was doing didn’t sound so strange to T’Challa.

Zwane, confirming T’Challa’s guess, chose to tell Tony what he wanted to know, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. “He was making unwelcome advances on my sister.”

As a brother, T’Challa took a deep breath and tried to keep his temper in check, looking at Zwane to express his sympathy, but Tony was on a completely different track.

“Is this like a homophobe thing?” Tony asked absently.

Zwane didn’t react, carefully so, and T’Challa got the impression he was seeing a grudge form.

“What do you mean?” T’Challa asked.

“Among homophobes there are many homosexuals,” Tony said still lost in thought.

Stressed from the potential bomb in the room, T’Challa said, “I doubt that he’s really black.”

Tony blinked, and looked at T’Challa questioningly. He must’ve read the expression on T’Challa’s face, because he turned to Zwane, and smirked. “And you doubted my ability to annoy people.”

*

T’Challa had a few interesting hours that evening, because apparently, for Tony to be able to change his appearance to what it had been when they had met, he needed to shut down unnecessary functions. Only he wasn’t a computer, and Tony’s ‘unnecessary functions,’ were his consciousness. It ended up with T’Challa and Teela hovering over an unconscious Tony.

“You are worried.”

“Who? Me?! No. You are worried.”

“No, _you_ are worried.”

It was a slow three hours, and it didn’t end there. T’Challa hoped to be able tackle both the responsibility he had towards Wakanda, and the reasons for why Tony seemed to be withdrawn. However, it didn’t go as planned.

As to the first point, Tony responded favorably. He got that T’Challa needed to prioritize his country in matters of its security and the security to its citizens, but he was startled to find out that prioritizing meant _just_ questioning where his interests lay and weighing his ideas, before implementing them. Although Tony was pleasantly surprised, T’Challa felt like he had failed Tony—it was clear that Tony didn’t know how much he meant to T’Challa, and that gave T’Challa all kinds of regrets.

And as for the second point, all Tony commented on that was, “You know we are doing this as fast as we can?”

T’Challa felt a knot form in his stomach, and could only nod.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support!

T’Challa watched from the command center as Tony waited for Pretorius outside his office. The Snakes had the authority to surveil anybody they wanted to on government property, but in order to follow him, including inside a residence, they needed to provide a reason. Teela was correct about that, so T’Challa was hoping she was going to be proven right about Pretorious’ instincts to return to the building when he was weighed down by thoughts if he had just come from it. Zwane approved, and they made their move the day after, on a Monday, after Pretorius had spent the weekend in the house they had surveilled.

 _“_ _Good morning. Can I help you?_ _”_ Pretorius asked, polite, but confused. A shade nervous, too.

 _“_ _Yeah, good morning,_ _”_ Tony said, extending his arm, for a shake. _“_ _Nice to see you again._ _”_

Pretorius shook. _“_ _Remind me where I know you from?_ _”_

 _“_ _From the auction!_ _”_ Tony exclaimed, sounding good-natured. _“_ _Don_ _’_ _t you remember? In Kenya. You were betting on loads of stuff._ _”_ He laughed, all charm, and seemingly without a clue as to why Pretorius might take it wrong. _“_ _Not that you got your hands on any,_ _”_ Tony said conspiratorially, _“_ _but I remember a book about African Queens. Any bells yet?_ _”_

That got Pretorius’ attention, and after checking to see if his secretary was listening—he was—Pretorius asked, still politely, _“_ _Do you want to come in?_ _”_

 _“_ _Thanks,_ _”_ Tony said, and headed straight for Pretorius’s seat, behind the desk. _“_ _Sit, sit._ _”_ He gestured towards one of the other two, more uncomfortable, guest chairs. _“_ _Let_ _’_ _s talk._ _”_

Pretorius chose to stand, appearing calm, but that was after he clenched his fists briefly.

“I am sorry I ever doubted him,” Zwane said wryly, shaking his head with a smile.

Tony, having heard Zwane though his comm, smirked, and continued, _“_ _African Queens..._ _”_ He trailed off, smirk widening. _“_ _Why would you want that?_ _”_  

Pretorius’ expression went blank.

“ _You don_ _’_ _t have an interest in African culture,_ _”_ Tony chuckled derisively. _“_ _You_ _’_ _re a racist. I know it, your PA knows it, otherwise I wouldn_ _’_ _t be invited in your office where he can_ _’_ _t hear, and everybody else at least suspects because you were worried about him talking. I mean who cares what he thinks, you_ _’_ _re the boss._ _”_ He raised his eyebrows cockily.

T’Challa blinked, and reminded himself that Tony was just playing a part.

 _“_ _So what_ _’_ _s left?_ _”_ Tony asked rhetorically. He was silent for a bit, studying Pretorius. _“_ _You have a_ kink _,_ _”_ Tony said, clicking his tongue on the last word.

 _‘_ Among homophobes there are many homosexuals,’ Tony had said in comparison to Pretorius harassing Zwane’s sister. T’Challa finally got it. He wasn’t referring to being gay and Pretorius being black, he was talking about liking the same gender, and more to point, Pretorius being attracted to black women.

 _“_ _I_ _’_ _m afraid I don_ _’_ _t know what you are talking about,_ _”_ Pretorius declared, but his facade was slipping.

 _“_ _What_ _’_ _s a racist to do?_ _”_ Tony asked with a shark’s smile, ignoring Pretorius completely. _“_ _He has an urge, but he can_ _’_ _t go on porn sites, check ebony, and enjoy himself. No,_ _‘_ _cause he_ _’_ _s too ashamed. What if somebody finds out? No._ _”_ He leaned back, and put his feet on the desk, boots thumping loudly, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. _“_ _You have one stashed around somewhere, don_ _’_ _t you?_ _”_

Pretorius paled.

T’Challa was transported back in time when Tony had assured him that they had been moving as fast as possible. He had been right, of course. But it was still… unfortunate. _Wrong, despicable, vile_. Tony’s withdrawn behavior showed that he thought so too.

Next to T’Challa, Zwane was breathing carefully. He muted their side of the comm. “How long have you known, Your Highness?”

“I just found out,” T’Challa said somberly. “And Tony guessed… from what you told him yesterday.”

Realization drawing, Zwane took a deep breath, and nodded. He told his team to give a green light on following Pretorius as soon as he left the building, while T’Challa went back to the conversation in Pretorius office. He reached over and turned on their side of the comm.

“We’ve got him,” T’Challa told Tony.

Zwane and T’Challa watched as Tony was getting ready to wrap up.

 _“_ _If you don_ _'t_ _want me talk, you'_ _re going to have to_ _—”_

Two loud bangs interrupted Tony. T’Challa’s eyes widened in shock. Pretorius had shot Tony. 

Tony was just supposed to get Pretorius annoyed by reminding him about the lost auction. Pretorius was going to threaten Tony, and then hide in case Tony went to the press. Of course, they had considered the possibility that Tony might be in danger, but with Pretorious’ office being in a government building, having both T’Challa and Zwane as backup, and Tony’s healing factor, they had concluded it was unlikely. That was why T’Challa had agreed when Tony argued that a bulletproof vest would alert Pretorius that something was up.

Zwane swore, and went to alert his team, but T’Challa extended a hand and stopped him. They need to trust Tony... trust him that he wasn’t dead. T’Challa swallowed painfully.

“We are going forward with the plan,” T’Challa said.

“Your Highness,” Zwane protested.

“He’s fine.”

“He doesn’t have a vest. That’s his blood,” Zwane disagreed, gesturing at the screen, where Pretorius had realized what he had done and was quickly exiting the premises.

T’Challa’s jaw clenched. “I know.”

“I won’t be held responsible for _killing_ Tony Stark,” Zwane decided. “This stops here. We have enough, anyway.”

“Booba?” T’Challa asked, holding his nerves tightly under control.

“Why does everybody aim for my heart, Gorgeous?” On the screen, Tony stood up, and the bullets fell with two sharp pings. “I have a brain, you know? It’s even, arguably, more important.”

Zwane shook his head, backed down, and told his team to be ready to follow Pretorius.

Meanwhile, T’Challa exhaled carefully, and said, “All of you is important, Booba.”

Tony looked up into the camera, mockingly shaking his finger. “That was not smooth.”

*

The plan was going smoothly, even though T’Challa apparently wasn’t, and the team was ready to enter the building where Pretorius had hid. It was the same one from Teela’s surveillance. So far, so good. Teela was close by with the Midnight Angels, in case they were needed. The Snakes were wired for video and audio, and Zwane could monitor them from the command centre. Everything was ready.

The Snakes blinded the cameras, neutralized the sensors, and blew up the door. They were in. Immediately, they were shot at. That was nothing they weren’t expecting, but the gunmen had unexpected uniforms. They were wearing the Wakandan Insignia.

Zwane turned to T’Challa. “Are they your men?”

“No,” T’Challa denied. “We don’t have any active missions at this time in South Africa.” He frowned, and tried to get a closer look at the insignia. “Tony, can I see the uniform?”

T’Challa meant that Tony should use Jarvis, but didn’t want to give the AI away. However, Tony nodded, moved the footage to his tablet, and got to typing. In a few seconds, thirty at most, he was done.

“Here,” Tony said, and handed off the tablet.

“They shouldn’t have this,” T’Challa mumbled. “It’s a sketch made after an older model. We haven’t used this in a year or so, but Wakanda has not been involved in an armed conflict in decades. Nobody should remember it.” He zoomed in. “This is slightly off even for that period, but it was done by somebody who had seen it. That’s impossible, though. There are no Wakandan emigrates.”

“Except...” Tony trailed off, and T’Challa felt a shiver down his spine.

“No.” T’Challa shook his head. That couldn’t be. “No.”

Tony placed his hand on the table, palm open.

“I can’t, Tony. Not yet,” T’Challa whispered.

Nodding, Tony turned to Zwane, keeping his hand on the table. “There should be a room, apart from the men. He wouldn’t want anybody to see her.”

“I agree,” Zwane said, after studying them both.

That was the last thing T’Challa heard. He refused to think about anything, for fear of where the thoughts would lead him. So he waited.

Images flashed: another level; Pretorius apprehended; a red door; and a woman...

“Mother,” T’Challa whispered.

White noise assaulted T’Challa, and he felt like he was drowning. He had no air. Possible scenarios assaulted him. The world took a shiny quality. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. Regrets tugged at him. T’Challa needed an anchor. He looked down and saw Tony’s arm. Still on the table. Still palm up. T’Challa reached for it, hoping his aim was true, that he would manage to touch it. But it was hard, his world was tilting. And Tony saved him. As T’Challa struggled to make it, Tony raised his arm, and caught T’Challa’s hand securely in his own.

T’Challa’s eyes closed. One deep breath in. And out. Tony’s palm was warm. In and out. T’Challa battered away self-recriminations. In and out. He clutched Tony’s hand to himself. In and out. His father, his sister, his tribe and their reactions were relegated to the back of his mind. In and out. Tony squeezed T’Challa’s hand in a short, supportive movement. In and out.  T’Challa’s eyes snapped open.

The world had come back to normal. His mother was still chained to the bed. She needed help.

“My mother will be taken straight to Wakandan doctors and therapists,” T’Challa said, voice even.

T’Challa’s first reaction was to get there, and feel those chains rip under his claws. Then, immediately after, he thought that seeing a man, even her son—or maybe especially her son, T’Challa remembered how humiliated she was when he just asked her about the power imbalance—was not a good idea. No, Teela was better.

“My team is going to handle her extraction,” T’Challa insisted.

“Of course, Your Highness.” Zwane nodded. He looked a bit stiff since they had discovered the identity of T’Challa’s mother, but Zwane was still remarkably calm. “We’ll need a deposition.”

“You’ll have it as soon as possible,” T’Challa agreed.

“I’m getting the plane ready,” Tony announced. He started typing on the tablet. “We need to get there ten minutes earlier.”

T’Challa nodded. He announced both Teela, and the doctors back home, but he left his sister and father for the plane ride. His driver was on standby, but transport was becoming a problem. 

“Can you go first?” T’Challa asked Tony.

“Yup,” Tony said. “It’ll cut the time to get there, so I’ll have time to change a few things.”

T’Challa looked at Zwane. “Can we get an ambulance?”

“We already called it,” Zwane said.

With every decision, T’Challa felt more and more grounded in reality. He wasn’t fine, not by a long shot, but he had Tony as an anchor, Zwane’s support, and things to do. All in all, it could be worse.

However, T’Challa needed to ask, “Can I see Pretorius?”

Zwane hesitated. “We need him in good condition,” he said warningly.

“Of course,” T’Challa said, but Zwane didn’t seem to believe him.

On the screen, Teela had reached the room in record time. His mother’s first reaction was of great joy, and relief. Her next reaction was to cry. And her third was to hide her face.

“Is my son here?” his mother asked quietly. In Xhosa.

“Yes, Queen Mother,” Teela answered in the same language.

“Don’t let him see,” his mother pleaded.

Teela smiled gently. “He is not here, is he?”

T’Challa was thankful to Teela for being her brilliant self. And he needed to be similarly clear-headed. It was just too bad that he felt awful.

But when Zwane said that Pretorius was coming, T’Challa had to be ready. He straightened his spine, he let his arms hang loose next to his body, he forced the tension in his shoulders diminish, and he stepped out of the command center. Instantly, he missed Teela. But that’s how it was sometimes. She had her role, and he had his.

“What is this then?” Pretorius asked.

It was then that Tony stepped up, covered the empty spot at T’Challa’s right. And T’Challa realized that even though usually Teela was two steps behind him, to better notice threats, Tony was barely half a step. It clearly thought to better show his support, and, at the same time, not steal T’Challa spotlight, but also served to show that unconsciously, Tony knew that he was an equal to T’Challa. Tony wasn’t T’Challa’s bodyguard, he wasn’t competing for attention, he was his own person with his own power, who was standing in support for someone he cared about.

T’Challa adored Tony for that. It was exactly what T’Challa needed: someone strong in their own right. That didn’t mean he thought less of his parents. Or, as his mother seemed to think in the throes of her trauma, less of her. How could he? She had survived. T’Challa didn’t know if he would have in her place. She had her own strength, and he had his. He drew his from having incredible people around who stood on their own, and he truly hoped that his mother found the right resources to allow her some semblance equilibrium eventually. Today, Tony had proven himself to be it for him, and T’Challa deeply wished she’d find someone, or something, to help her too.

“Thank you,” T’Challa said to Zwane.

Then, turning to Pretorius, T’Challa studied him. Unremarkable in every way. Then again, to do horrible acts was not an accomplishment. T’Challa now understood what it was about Wakanda that disturbed Pretorius so much. But T’Challa wanted Pretorius to know that help had been coming for Ramonda, and it had been only a matter of time until they had their Queen, their Mother, back. 

So T’Challa said, “You know who I am. I know your plans, and soon the whole world would too. Your plans, not you.” T’Challa bared his teeth in a smile. “He’s Tony Stark.” T’Challa gestured to Tony, ignoring the fury he could see gather on Pretorius face. “In there are the Doras.” He gestured in the direction of the house. “You’re finished, and you have accomplished nothing. I hope you have a _fantastic_ time in prison.”

*

T’Challa nodded to Tony in gratitude. By using the Iron Man suit, Tony had beaten traffic and had used the Doras stationed with the Hawk to move all the mats next to a wall so they formed a comfortable nest—the most important aspect of a tribe room. He had also gotten three seats from the Doras’ Dagger, probably to account for the possibility that Ramonda didn’t feel like cuddling up to someone.

As Ramonda and Teela were climbing down from the ambulance, T’Challa put a supportive hand on Teela’s shoulder, and then stepped forward.

“It’s good to have you home,” T’Challa said gently. His mother curled into herself. T’Challa’s voice softened even more, as he continued, “But now it’s about you, not us. Do you want to come to Wakanda?”

Barely perceptible, Ramonda nodded.

T’Challa smiled encouragingly, but it went unseen. “I will be in the Hawk, though I’ll be in front with the pilot,” he said, keeping a calm tone. “When, and if, you’re ready for me to be there for you, like I _assure_ you I want to be, simply call for me.” He extended a hand, but he thought better of it and stopped. “Can I touch you?”

Another feeble nod, and T’Challa moved carefully. He touched his mother’s shoulder, and waited for a few moments until she got used to it, and her breathing become regular again. She was so strong. He stroked a hand on her clothed upper arm—once and as supportive as he could make it—and then took his hand back.

“Thank you, mother,” T’Challa said, and went to leave. A hand on his upper arm stopped him.

“My son,” his mother whispered as she took her hand back.

Though she still wouldn’t look at him, T’Challa felt tears sting his eyes, and a rush of emotion so powerful it nearly bowled him over.

Perhaps they would be alright when all this was said and done.

T’Challa smiled tremulously, nodded to Teela, and retired up front next to Tony.

“I was thinking of inviting Jay on,” Tony said, and he turned to watch T’Challa. After a few seconds, he swiveled his chair away to flip a switch. It didn’t do anything as far as T’Challa knew, just turned the optimization of fuel to manual. Tony continued, “He’d be able to arrange for a much smoother flight, but there are other ways.” He pushed a button that silenced the alarm in preparation of taking the Hawk out of automatically following a prescribed route, and then rotated a knob to have it plotted in real time on a nearby screen.

“It’s fine. Invite Jarvis,” T’Challa said. He rubbed at his forehead.

“How are you?” Tony asked hesitantly, while he took the plane off auto-pilot and gave it over to Jarvis. He still kept a hand on the control wheel, but his other hand layer splayed on his knee, palm up.

T’Challa took Tony’s offer. “I’m not sure.” He looked out the window. “Did you know?” He was certain that Tony didn’t, but he needed to hear it spoken.

“What?” Tony asked confused. “That she was your mother? No. I guessed he had somebody, but I didn’t know who it was.”

Nodding, T’Challa admitted, “I just needed to hear it.” He turned to Tony. “He’s going to pay.”

“It’s pretty miraculous that he’s not eating dirt right now,” Tony said with a half-smile. “I gather you have a plan.”

“Make him non-existent.”

After a few moments of startled silence, Tony said, “That could work.” He frowned thoughtfully. “You pay the media to not say his name. Maybe add something to sweeten the deal.”

“Petition to have the name changed in official documents,” T’Challa said. “Both related to this case and any legislative proposals he might have made.”

“Jay or me could take care of online news, profiles, government sites,” Tony offered.

“Circulate through a hundred, no make that a thousand names,” T’Challa suggested.

“Do the same with his picture.”

“Enforce it by a case by case analysis.”

Tony smirked and T’Challa mirrored it—they were in agreement.

“T’Challa,” his mother’s voice called quietly.

“I have to go,” T’Challa said. “Thank you. For everything.”

Tony smiled. “It was my turn.”

With a smile, a kiss, and a caress, T’Challa took a fortifying breath, and went to the back of the plane. He found his mother huddled against the plane, on the mats. She kept a little ways away from the Doras, but still close to them. It gave T’Challa an idea about where to go. He kept Teela between them, but extended his hand past her to his mother. An offer. When his mother his hand, he smiled and put his head on Teela’s shoulder.

All was not lost.

*

T’Challa managed to let his father and his sister know, and then just held on in the aftermath.

His father was wrecked, his sister angry and vengeful, and the tribe didn’t know what to do. Shuri’s wedding was postponed. It was going to continue feeling off until they found a new way of balancing it all. A shift had occurred, and everything was wrong right now, but it wasn’t going to be like that. It couldn’t be.

T’Challa did his duties, spent whatever time he could with his mother, tried to be there for his father, and started avoiding his sister since they didn’t blend well in their remorse-filled state.

A particular painful exchange stood clearly in his memory, and made them both retreat in their corners.

“You and your power dynamics, don’t you see how much harm you’ve done?” Shuri had accused.

“If it hadn’t been for the inequality in their relationship half of Wakanda would have been looking for her,” T’Challa had answered coldly. “And it’s my fault that they hadn’t anyway. I accept that. But if you’re so eager to blame somebody, perhaps you should look in the mirror too. While I was blinded by power dynamics, what blinded you? Was the fact that you can’t conceive somebody not having the same training, status, riches, and power as you?”

T’Challa had regretted it immediately, not because he had thought he was wrong, but because he hadn’t thought it had done anybody good. He had had a feeling Shuri had wished she could take it back too. But they couldn’t. Perhaps after they had both found their balance, they could try again.

Teela, the rest of the Doras, the Tribe, and Tony, kept T’Challa sane. He adored them all. Doubly so when they all worked together, joked together, or simply spent time together. Tony had been accepted in the Tribe, and was becoming a part of home.

Six months later his father announced to the world that he was going to step down, and leave the crown to his son. In Wakanda very little changed—the role as Chieftain of Wakanda had passed down already. But, it was still important, because it meant handing the reins completely.

And when King T’Challa extended his hand, it was caught by his partner, King Consort Anthony of Wakanda.

*

“Today in world news: King T’Challa of Wakanda’s coronation. His father, former King T’Chaka had announced that he would step down a week ago to spend more time to his family. And today, in an awe-inspiring ceremony, Prince T’Challa became King T’Challa. All of Wakanda rejoiced, while countless world leaders and important figures offered congratulations. Even in our country, the event was celebrated,” Christine Everhart’s smile turned into a smirk. “The United States, however, are in for a surprise. Immediately after he was crowned, King T’Challa reached for his partner, now King Consort Anthony of Wakanda. Or, as he might be known to our viewers: Tony Stark.” Her grin was blinding.

*

Loki looked admiringly at Christine Everhart practically gloating on CNN. “I have learned to appreciate this realm.”

“Why is that?” Doom asked, trying to mask the pain in his heart.

“In less than two minutes, I have already seen three chaos makers, each with their own specialization, and that is not counting the two of us,” Loki said delightedly. “What is not to like?”

Doom’s cackle made Latvian citizens stop in their tracks, and look suspiciously around. 

*

Eyes fixed on the TV, Clint said in an awed tone, “Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.”

“I didn’t want to imagine that,” Bruce said dryly.

“I second that.” Natasha’s eyes were narrowed. “You realize that he’s now beyond our reach.”

Steve sighed.

“I... don’t think this is about us, or is any of our business,” Bruce said. There was accusation in his tone. “Plus, he’s Tony. He wouldn’t commit unless he had good reason.”

 “I am happy for Friend Tony,” Thor shared, with a shrug.

“Wakanda is the most technologically advanced country,” Steve said. “If we suspect that our teammate might take advantage of somebody else, isn’t it our responsibility to look into it?”

“Should your concern not be for your friend in this matter, the person who is not king?” Thor asked.

“The king’s a kid!” Steve exclaimed.

At the same time, Natasha remarked, “Everybody can be seduced.”

“Actually, I think they’re pretty well matched.” Clint shrugged. “Tony’s the devil to us, because we know the kind of power he wields, but we don’t know the other guy. I mean he didn’t seem too malleable. You guys know I had some missions in Africa, and Wakandan guys and girls are _badass_. What does that tell you about their King?”

“I think Tony fits better in that country, than he ever did here,” Bruce said, and shrugged.

“Aye,” Thor said. “I shall call him to offer my congratulations. Would anyone join me?”

*

T’Challa groaned when a phone rang.

“It’s Thor,” Tony said extricating a hand from the amalgam of limbs on the mat. “Probably the others are there too.”

T’Challa groaned again, and hid his face in Tony’s thigh.

“What do you want to bet that I can make them think we’re having an orgy without saying the word, Gorgeous?”

T’Challa perked up. “I love how you think, Booba.”

*

They had a good life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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